


Ludenberg Lounge

by potat



Category: AU - Fandom, Dangan Ronpa, No Despair School, Oxford University
Genre: All were friends in the past except for Kirigiri, Celes and Kirigiri are the main thing going on here just saying, F/F, F/M, Low Self Esteem, M/M, Multi, brief mention of actual food, bunch of idiots at a top university, identity crisis, ridiculous amounts of alcohol consumption, she only knew Naegi, your smoke and mirrors won't work Celes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-28 14:20:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 47,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potat/pseuds/potat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>One singular, delicate rose sat placidly in a neat jar; it shifted, petals and thorns clattering gently against the sides.</i><br/> </p><p> Celestia Ludenberg has been successful for many years and has only just set foot into Oxford University in the last year. Years of professional gambling has led her to fame and much fortune. It is plain for all to see that she has lost something along the way, and not many know of her past interactions with a much lighter part of society. But that is something she wishes to forget, enveloping herself deeply in the swathes of alcohol and dark intentions. She needs to forget. But someone wants her to remember.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Autumn: Begin

Ludenberg Lounge: a name coined by no-one in particular. Just like the well-known venue for student night life had sprung up, the name had a similar rise. One person hears it, then another and so on until the owner of the converted dorm is so practiced in hiding her gritted teeth and furrowed brow, not even her closest friends can see the irritation the crude name causes her. Unfortunately, or rather thankfully, less than 90% of the people heard to praise the Lounge had ever been inside it. The private gathering was strictly private. No guests, no friends (unless they were already members). Taeko, or rather Celes, a Mathematics and Statistics undergraduate, didn’t become friends with simply anyone. Not because she was stuck up (Byakuya Togami, reading Classics) or ridiculously paranoid (Touku Fukawa, also Classics) but merely because… she didn’t fancy herself to have the time. Plus she was content. That was the important thing. However, the fact this gathering was restricted to mainly her fourteen friends didn’t mean rumours weren’t spread.

The Lounge served part of its life as a student dwelling, but was uncommon for the lowly funded student as it was simply too large, too expensive and in this instance, rented by only the one student. However, a life of well-paid photo shoots and hoards more successful, and continued, gambling nights had lead Celes to great financial success. The large flat, painted in cool greys with a thick red carpet, was mainly an open plan dining and living room with a full length sliding door secluding the kitchen and its dark marble counters in the one corner. The furniture littering this grand open space mimicked the feature wall’s golds, reds and blacks; black cushions with red swirls, held up on limbs of gold were cornered off in still dances around each other. A full wall window to the left of the room was open, allowing one to step onto the balcony, permitting the refined Oxford air into the flat, billowing silk curtains of white merely pausing the night’s light from causing disturbance in the room. Off to the right the room dented inwards, revealing the hidden living space of Celestia Ludenberg, where the book cases, a more private drinks cabinet, desk, bed and en suite were hidden as well. No-one really saw the inside, but despite popular opinions of gothic nightstands and vampiric decor, white cabinets matched white sheets and white walls met a light cream carpet. Celes didn’t like conforming to what people expected of her.

It was late. Bottles were currently separated sparingly across the floor of the Lounge, all empty except the one upright on a side table which still retained about half of the alcoholic beverage inside. A fraction of it was in a wine glass. A bit more of it was currently residing within one Celes. She had found, over the two years of her time at university, that if she wrote her main essay drunk she conveyed more of what she meant to say than when she was sober. Of course, she mused to herself, tinkering was needed afterwards as there was still no such word as ‘bceaseu’.

For most of the week, the renowned Ludenberg Lounge became the student dwelling of its happy owner (as mentioned, currently writing an essay whilst in a drunken haze). The trashed state of the room would soon be cleared up thanks to the easily manipulated ‘manga and hidden meanings’ club. Celes had always found one of her two reasons for fame helped in that regard, and it wasn’t the gambling fame at all. More the lesser known fame. She thought she’d escaped that part of her past, but her face had been too well known… There was a sharp knock on the door.

“Bloody hell.” She muttered, throwing her notes and reading material to the side, crossing the room with ease. If she was in luck, this would be aforementioned manga club here to clean up. “So you bastards finally show?” She started shouting at the door, “Later than a fucking corpse!” She exclaimed, flinging the door wide, “Oh, Naegi. You’re not…”

“Who were you expecting?” Makoto Naegi (Classics) chuckled as Celes attempted to compose herself, apologising hurriedly, her usual pallor cheeks flushing a faint pink.

“Not you, that’s for certain.” She replied briskly, stepping aside to let him in. His hair was still up and fluffy from last night’s brief liaison with the carpet and the grey bags under his eyes were prominent against the beam of his sweet yet absolutely dork-ish grin. He raised a hand to the nape of his neck, surveying all of the damage caused.

“Ha, wow, sorry about last night! I guess we keep taking it too far…” Celes shrugged well naturedly, or at least seemingly well naturedly. Naegi stooped to pick up a few bottles, putting them in the empty glass recycling box left out in a hinted fashion by Celes. Whilst it was all well and good for such kind young men to help clean her flat they were not going to see passed the main room, see if she could help it, so help her God, thus explaining the bi-weekly migration of the glass recycling from the kitchen to the open plan living-dining room.  
“Well you know how it is when Oowada gets his hands on the key to my secret cabinet.”

“Yeah, like every time you hold these events.” Naegi commented drily, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand. “Right okay, so the reason I’m here…”  
“Oh yes, go on.” Celes said, sitting on the floor, her back against a sofa. Naegi sat on a chair opposite her, hands clasped and leaning forward. A position used to intimidate or to reflect a serious mood. Celes resisted the urge to roll her eyes at herself. Wow, thank you, brain.

“So it’s like this…” he shifted forward, his eyes fixated on a bottle by his foot. Nervous, avoiding the subject but still wanting to plough on. “I… a friend of mine is new this year. She just joined for the psychology, philosophy and linguistics course. Uh… we’ve known each other for a while and… well, you see…” the bottle must have been of a very intricate design, “She’s like you…?” Celes couldn’t help but notice the questioning tone to that statement. She lifted an eyebrow. “What I mean is… she’s, uh… not good with people.”

“I am going to take that as an indication of how wonderful I am, then, to allow certain people access to my flat on a regular basis?”

“W-well, you’re better with people than she is, but… you still, kind of… um.” Looking unwaveringly in the eyes; conveying strength and certainty with his statement. He believes what he’s saying. Shit. “People say things, Celes. About her, and also about you. But that’s… not what I’m here to talk about.” After-hangover honesty. Naegi was very well versed in it.

“Then what are you here to talk about, Makoto. I hope it’s not just to insult me and my hospitality?” The breeze from the open window rippled through the uneasy mood, the curtains flannelling out further into the room, attempting to brush the cheeks of their owner. One singular, delicate rose sat placidly in a neat jar; it shifted, petals and thorns clattering gently against the sides. The two were horribly still.

“… Celes. How long have we known each other? Do you really think I’d come all the way here to tell you how terrible you are?” 

“So you do think I’m terrible?” Celes chuckled. At the joking manner, the evening wind died; the rose was still. “Thank you, Naegi, you’ve confirmed my own suspicions. I was wondering who that seemingly traitorous woman in the mirror could’ve been. Applause for the Detective.” Naegi flushed with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry…”

“It’s fine. In the past. Behind us. Do continue.” The ease of being with a friend had settled Celes, her thorny sting retreating back within her. Around her, the room breathed a sigh of relief. Now Naegi seemed reluctant.

“Well… This friend. Because she’s not good with people I want to help her… So I was wondering if you could extend an invite to her. It would be… It would be really great of you to do so!”

Celes rubbed her cheekbone exhaustedly. Of course this hadn’t been the first request at all from Naegi for an extended invitation. He was a naturally friendly guy and wanted to, very chivalrously, extend the hand of friendship to every lost sheep he found. The fact, however, that that friendship meant then putting those sheep in Celes' own, well regulated flock seemed to be a different factor to him. “I’ll consider it.” She half moaned into the palm of her hand. The exact same words she said every single time, each time always meaning ‘no’. But again she watched with weary eyes Naegi jump up with excitement, that stupid puppy smile on his face. Again, he thanked her and she handed him a bottle of whatever was closest and not empty. And again he told her to lay off the drink and that drinking didn’t prevent hangovers, only prolonged them, patted her shoulder, took a load of spares to student recycling and left. There would be fresh rolls from the bakery by her door when she checked in the next half an hour. Again. “Idiot.” She growled, venomously chugging the wine left in the bottle.

Of course she couldn’t hate Naegi. He did try to get her out into the exciting world of new people. What he didn’t understand was that she’d had her fill of new people and had taken now to a smaller group of closer friends. For her, the days of acquaintances were over. Too many times had she been taken advantage of. Too many times had she become the loser. The people she surrounded herself now? They’d never let her down. And they never would. They’d helped her, she’d helped them. They were here, and so was she, thanks to them and only them. Celes frowned. “And in that second, I became a miserable misery of a drunk.” She mumbled, standing and staggering off to her room. She locked the door and subsequently fell face first into airy duvets and light mattresses. The manga club knew where the spare was. She dozed off.

 

Around this very same time, one lone figure wandered the halls of her own home. The lights on in both kitchen and dining room served as the only signs of life to the outside world, stranded in a crowd of foreboding dark. Kyouko Kirigiri, for one so coolly confident within and of herself, moved quietly in the small house shared with Naegi, and others whom she’d yet not been acquainted to. Maybe the fact she considered even herself an outsider in what was now her own home was part of the reason why one with otherwise such nobility moved as if scared of making her presence known to the true residents of the building. The fact that she’d even gone so far as to isolate herself in the small island of light was both funny and a little sad. However, it was her who had turned down the student housing. The thought of sleeping near a stranger hadn’t appealed… but now, she still felt cornered.

A cup of steaming tea was placed on a table, part of the small island she’d allowed herself, surrounded by battered arm chairs and a sofa she’d curled up on. Her feet were tucked underneath her. Even touching the carpet felt like an invasion of privacy. She was reading, waiting up. She hoped Naegi would be back soon. Only then would she feel permission to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay getting the hang of this...  
> So, more chapters yes (how do you give a work chapters?) The rating may change as we go, bear with me. It depends on exact what kind of hi-jinks this lot will get up to; I have a brief plan, but no precise details unless it's for a specific scene. Hope you enjoy


	2. Burn

After the panic of finding pills, chugging down glasses of water and eventually getting through most of her hang over, Celes realised the continued thumping wasn’t coming from the inside of her skull but her door. “Celes, we’ve been knocking for about ten minutes!” Aoi stated, obviously worried due to the previous lack of response. Sakura stood ominously behind her, nodding only once in consensus.

“How lovely for you. Breakfast? Tea?” Aoi glanced back at Sakura, not agreeing to anything without her friend’s approval. Of course. So predictable.

“We would gladly accept.” Sakura said in a quiet voice. Hiding her reluctance, Celes stood back, allowing Aoi and Sakura access to her flat. Shutting the door, she followed them to the kitchen. Sakura had already filled the kettle and Aoi was stood by the window, leaning against the sill. Grabbing a bottle from the table, Celes shooed Sakura away from the kettle into a seat. Hang over notwithstanding, she was the hostess.

“To what do I owe this positively grand morning visit?” She asked, prepping a teapot. A moment of silence in which she glanced between the two. Sakura: hands clasped on the table, as if revealing knowledge, eyes closed, considering the best way to go about the delivery of information. Aoi: shifting her weight constantly, a sign of nerves, a well chewed lip, again clear worry, furrowed brows. Worry worry worry. Celes did not sneer; how could she give up her hand so easily, especially to her dear, sweet friends? “To see how I’m doing? I assure you, I am fighting fit! The epitome of fitness, actually.”

“Well…” Aoi began, the skirting board her new favourite piece of eye candy. “The thing is… we all know you’re not…”

“Please tell me you’re not here to ask me on a morning jog.” Celes grumbled, pouring the boiling water into a poorly decorated tea pot, trying to avoid the scalding steam cascading upwards. Her skin was already bad enough. “I’ve still got a hangover from my essay writing.”

“That is exactly the problem.” Sakura stated, vice-like hands still clamped together. As she looked up at Celes, numerous muscles rippled in glorious synchronisation. Celes shuddered, having seen the strength of Sakura, and comparing it to her brittle, spindly frame, she suddenly felt insecure. Sakura could break her knees with a single flick. “Your drinking is excessive. You know our support for you is as equally excessive, and yet you have not come to us for the help our friendship can offer. All of us have spoken with you on various occasions, with varying degrees on how important destroying this issue is. It impedes your recovery.”

“Celes, you’re wasting away!” Aoi burst out, fists clenched as tight as her eyelids, tears beginning to brim, “You’re wasting away and we have to watch! We’re trying to help you, but you’re getting to the point beyond our help! We’re here to help! We don’t want you in rehab, Celes… We want you healthy and happy and… not some drunken, broken person…”

Celes remained calm, now filling three mugs with the brew, adding in the exact amount of milk she knew they both liked, stirring in Aoi’s sugar and a half, three times clockwise, four anticlockwise. She placed one tea in front of Sakura who bowed her head gently in thanks. Aoi’s tea, she pressed into the girl’s hands. As Aoi reached for the tea, Celes took the opportunity to grip her hands and stare her straight in the eyes. “I am not broken. I was broken and now I’m fixed. I am still healing, though, that is unescapable. But this time, you know I’m still here.” She turned away, hopping onto a counter. She snatched up her own tea, meaningful looks burrowing their way into both athletes. “I am still here. You need not worry.”

“Yasuhiro, we are here to help you.” Sakura repeated gently, cupping the tea, allowing a ripple to pass between her lips. Aoi’s hands were shaking.

“Don’t call me that.” Celes hissed, trying to hide her glare behind the mug in her pristine hands.

“Then what, dear friend? Ludenberg?” with that, Sakura stood, but Celes remained sat. The venom… the pure disgust at the name, the word. Sakura had spat the fictional title onto the floor and stamped on it, an action Celes herself would happily perform. But with Sakura doing it -her friend- it felt like something vital had been broken. Celes remained still, mug poised by her lips, a beautiful, stone cold statue; immaculately poised and impossibly lovely. “I went too far. Thank you for the tea, dear Celes.” Sakura’s tone had softened to her usual flowing words of polite grace, a large, calloused but calm hand briefly brushing the frail bone of Celes’ shoulder. The contact brought warmth flowing back into Celes and she shuddered, shakily removing herself from the counter to follow Aoi and Sakura to the door, in a state of misplaced clarity. Just as the door was closing, Aoi spun on her heels, face to face with Celes.

“You do have a problem though, Celes.” She uttered in a final attempt at altering Celes’ view on her problem. “We’re here, all of us. For you. And you can come jogging with Sakura and myself at any point in time.” With that, she patted Celes’ arm and followed Sakura down the hall.

“At least I can admit when I’m gay!” Celes hollered in a last ditch effort to come out on top. She grinned when Aoi physically stiffened and almost fell down the stairs, then hurriedly absconded through the doorway before she felt either sportswoman’s wrath. She snickered at the sound of furious, yet muffled and half-hearted, shouting coming from the hallway. It took about a second for the weights to come crashing down. Celes slid down the door to the floor, huddled up like an unused doll, her limbs strewn around her. She was sat quite still as time continued to pass, the sound of students and general day-light life rolling on without her. Celes didn’t know quite when she decided to catch up with it, but her friends were long ahead of her now. Pulling on a pair of jeans and a top, she vowed in a haze to chase after them. She would be fixed. The alcohol wouldn’t hold her. 

A green neck extended into her line of view, waving to her, crying out not be left behind. She picked up the beer before she left, cradling it in one hand. She barely noticed she’d done so.

 

Kirigiri was admiring the day. Around her on the mist stained grounds people were sat together, sectioned off accordingly in groups, determined by whom they’d have a better time with. She passed few people on the path, and those who did overtake her were clutching papers, holding laptop bags firmly, rushing to and from lectures. A minority of that few held freshly baked goods from local cafes and Kyouko looked on eagerly. As more scents passed, the hungrier she became. No-one had been awake for breakfast, and the simple act of pouring cereal felt like a sort of minor theft. She had to do a food shop of her own. Just around that point in time, a short girl… boy? A short androgynous person had caught up with her. “Good morning, Kyouko!” the person called, beaming. Kirigiri looked at them in doubt, no word passing her lips, “Oh sorry, it’s me, Chihiro… You’re Naegi’s friend, right?”

One of the people she was living with it seemed. “Yes. Please call me Kirigiri.” She replied curtly, resisting the urge to increase her pace. For whatever reason, the smiling figure almost unnerved her.

“Ah, sorry! I forgot you preferred your surname! It seems the English ways have become my own!” Chihiro laughed lightly, assumedly at his own forgetfulness, “Where are you headed?” Kirigiri would kill for an escape route from small talk. Showing interest in other people’s lives had never been her strong point, and answering questions about herself felt… presumptuous. She shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her large leaver’s hoodie from high school; there in the folds of cloth she found her miniature stress ball and began fiddling with it discreetly. Nevertheless, rudeness of her own part was something which she had a mortal fear of.

“Shopping.” The need to elaborate overcame her natural silence, “For breakfast.” Chihiro frowned in confusion.

“Didn’t you find anything good in the kitchen? We had croissants for the first time in ever! Unless… Mondo ate them…” small Chihiro shrugged his small shoulders, “Well, I don’t know much about the kitchen contents myself, I’m more of a toast guy, you know?” No answer seemed to be forthcoming, “Either way, I hope you’re a porridge-oatmeal person. Naegi practically lives on the stuff, never mind the fact you can get a bag of oats for barely anything. The ideal student breakfast!” Chihiro chuckled, settling into pace alongside her. He had a large rucksack on his back, the way the weight was positioned suggesting he was carrying only a laptop, no books. Slung across his torso, bouncing against his bright yellow jeans was a second laptop bag, slightly smaller. Kirigiri made a guess that he was the Computing Science student Naegi had mentioned. Either that or he was dyslexic. Or, third option, he had remarkable funds for a student. The messenger bag still had a label on it. “So, I heard you’re here for the big three? Psychology, philosophy and linguistics?”

Kirigiri nodded, nuzzling her mouth against her large knit scarf, as if she could hide her lips from conversation “That’s pretty cool! I’m reading computing and all that. I almost went for English or Philosophy, but… well, my friends suggested I put my education where my heart is.” Chihiro giggled, “Wow that’s cheesy.” Kirigiri couldn’t help but let her shoulders shake as she in turn chuckled lightly.

“Yes.” She agreed, smiling faintly. Deep inside her pocket, her fingers left the stress ball.

 

When the two arrived at the local store, a scene was currently in progress. A girl with long black hair in a large, messy plait was causing confusion at the till. Chihiro saw the commotion and immediately was chewing his lip and rushing over. Kirigiri just about caught the muttered “Not again” leave his lips.

“It’s not hard, man.” The girl growled, her arms trembling from the weight of her basket, which carried a preposterous number of bottles. “Square the number I gave you, and using my kindly provided formula deduce how many bottles are there!”

The man looked pained, raising a hairy hand to fuss his scruffy beard. “Ma’am, I told you I don’t get your number games! J-just let me count the bottles myself and this will be easy for everyone!” he protested, attempting to reach over the counter, but the girl stood back and Kirigiri could swear she heard a low growl. Luckily for apparently everyone, Chihiro had made his way to the counter by that time having picked up a bag of apples, a pack of ham and a bread loaf from the stands around the front, discreetly slipping them into the basket of the girl, removing a few bottles of Jack Daniels for a large bottled water.

“Celes, please stop.” He whined, hulking the basket from the startled girl with surprising strength. Pushing the basket towards the store vender, giving a small yet perceptible apologetic smile, he turned to the two. “Kyouko… Oh, uh, sorry, Kirigiri, this is Taeko-”

“Celestia.” A correction flung carelessly over her shoulder.

“Celestia Ludenberg. She’s a good friend of mine.” He introduced, turning the now grumpy black haired girl by the arm towards Kirigiri. “Celes, meet Kirigiri. Naegi may have mentioned her to you?”

“He may have.” Celes answered, her tone surly. Kirigiri expected her to return her attention back to her shopping, so was surprised when a hand was raised stiffly, fingers extended apart from three. They were twined around the neck of an almost empty bottle. “Nice to meet you. I’m sorry, my brother, I believe I’ve gone and drunk a malenky bit too much of the old moloko and more but its right horrorshow to meet such a ptitsa like thou, oh my brother. Right horrorshow groobies on you.”

“So you like the work of Burgess?” Kirigiri commented. Chihiro stared at Celes as if she’d grown a second head.

“How much have you had to drink?” he stuttered out. It was Kirigiri’s turn to look around in confusion, but the question seemingly wouldn’t be explained for some time. The connection of literature to alcohol was beyond her. Celes didn’t offer anything by way of explanation or answer, now taking her opportunity to focus her apparently drunken attention on her shopping. The figure her assorted liquors had racked up was astonishing but didn’t seem to faze her. Celes simply produced a wallet stuffed with cards, all tinged platinum, and slotted one into the machine waiting her. The store vendor was gawking at her in mild horror.

The pin was accepted, the shopping was bagged and Celes once again gave the two her attention. “I must be going. It was lovely talking to you.” The last bit sounded tacked on, not quite an afterthought, merely routine. A hostess’s obligation. She left. Chihiro followed her exit with anxious eyes, a hand raised to his mouth. There was a short silence in which Kirigiri regarded him coolly, waiting for his captured interest to return. It only took a moment for Chihiro’s good natured smile to make a reappearance on his face.

“Let’s worry about her later. Got to get you breakfast, right?”

Kirigiri observed him again. The smile couldn’t hide the electricity of his thoughts. Even as he plucked tins ripe for the picking from shelves, as he asked her questions concerning flavours, darted from shelf to shelf, compared prices, there were fireworks of anxiety revealed in his rushing eyes, eyes which had been so brightly hazel had softened and aged to a distressed glowing brown. On the occasion, he ran a feminine hand through fluffy hair, worrying the ends. He constantly fussed his petite chin, rubbing fingertips against fingertips, worrying and worrying them to the bone. Kirigiri was close to falling down in relief when they came back to the till. Chihiro’s stress was easily causing her some in return; she’d always been hyper sensitive to the mood around her and so preferred to remain quiet. Leaving her own impression on the impressionable atmosphere of human interactions was simply like shouting for the attention of a crowd which was simultaneously shouting for its own recognition. And so silence would win and win throughout.

It seemed, however, her agitation didn’t go unnoticed. Carefully slipping his arm around hers, an affable gesture only, Chihiro sighed. “Everything okay?”

“Only if it is with you.” Kirigiri met the question with her own. Chihiro put on a brave face.

“Yeah.” Kirigiri happily took the lie, expecting no elaboration. She was merely an acquaintance. Once again, though, she found herself to have underestimated. “It’s just… Well. It’s Celes. We’re all worried.” Again, his bony chest flattened in sighed exhalation, “She liked you though.” He laughed almost bitterly, “She may become your problem as well.”

“She’s troublesome?” Kirigiri asked. The abruptness, the unhelpfulness of the girl had certainly come across. The rank air of superiority clashed violently with the flavoursome hint of the hostess. Also the straight faced aura of hostility and lies, thick like smog, was hard to miss. Troublesome didn’t seem to cover it. But again Kirigiri was surprised.

“She’s allowed to be. She deserves it. She acts difficult only because… ah, no, I shouldn’t talk like this. Celes isn’t bad at all. She’s had her bad days like all of us and is honestly really lovely.” Chihiro’s brow furrowed, “I just wish she’d help herself, you know.”

“Drinking problem?”

“It’s pretty easy to see, isn’t it? No, it’s not just that, but it certainly doesn’t help.” Chihiro patted his fingers against Kirigiri’s bicep. They walked in silence. The grounds had been evacuated by the previous groups, leaving only light impressions and moisture from the descending fog on the grass. The two were alone in their trek back to the shared home, figures mere silhouettes in the distance, and Kirigiri wasn’t sure if they were real or just figments of her imagination. They faded into eyesight and then out again, like some far off dance she couldn’t quite witness and edged around without exploring further, for fear of being drawn into the complicated steps of the life of another individual. She skirted around them, just as they skirted around her, avoiding either purposefully or without notice, not upsetting the gravitational orbit of another’s busy life. 

From witnessing alone, she’d discerned how Celestia Ludenberg worked; the pull of her gravity was irresistibly strong and Chihiro and Naegi and many, many others were trapped, forming many moons, widening the reach of her forceful pull. Soon, Celestia’s problem would be everyone else’s. Her gravity seemed to reach and tear and shred and bite into others, reeling them in, like fish hooked in the jaw by the rod… but Kirigiri did not yet know anything for certain. Her gratuitously poetic hypothesis wasn’t fortified with evidence. The only way she’d know was to experience. Her own gravity extended its reach to Chihiro and through him, she’d find her way to Ludenberg, for curiosity had reared its ugly head and smothered social ignorance and anxiety.  
It was autumn at Oxford University and the fresh smells of dead leaves refreshed the mind. The year had cycled again, Kirigiri’s twentieth year of witnessing, her first of many in spectating the life and lies of one Celestia Taeko Ludenberg Yasuhiro, whichever combination led to her real name. She would one day be knowledge to Kirigiri as intimate as her own fingers. But not just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep Chihiro has confidence, shall be later explained.  
> Celes has a weird relationship with her names. She uses the one she hates and discards the one she loves. Why does she do that? Hmm...
> 
> Also Celes is a literary nerd, and when she said “Nice to meet you. I’m sorry, my brother, I believe I’ve gone and drunk a malenky bit too much of the old moloko and more but its right horrorshow to meet such a ptitsa like thou, oh my brother. Right horrorshow groobies on you.” that basically meant "You're hot, I'm drunk, it's nice to meet you, I like your tits"


	3. Growth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to say, I'm not entirely happy with the ending of this chapter. It may read off to you; please feedback if that's the case! You won't be alone! I will probably feel the same way... I think my reasoning is secure, but I'm not certain I've conveyed it well in written form? So the reasoning for what I think is awry is in the end notes and I'd love to hear if you thought it was also strange/whatever or if you thought it was fine... Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy this chapter :)

There had been a formal evening in which all students suited up in their robes of black and white (highly formal, and ludicrously obscure). After making a brief appearance, Kirigiri quickly left under the instruction of Naegi as “they just want you to appear, the rest doesn’t matter” in a direct line past the usual student pub hide out, through twisting streets and meandered right into a much more hidden location. Upon entering, still in her large robes, Kirigiri found herself immediately under the scrutiny of every middle aged to elderly person in the bar. Looking further from their suspicious gaze, she saw Naegi beckoning to her from a table. His company seemed already large, made up of her new housemates (Chihiro also waved) and others, totalling fifteen. Chairs had been dragged into the table’s circle and glasses were pushed out of the way for elbows, bags or simply more drinks. Naegi stood and began pushing his way through chairs to get to her; he knew that given the chance, Kirigiri would attempt (and succeed at) escape. 

With only a “Come say hi to everyone!” she was thrust towards the circle of curious faces. Chihiro, who was sat beside a large man with an intriguing pompadour-quiff styled hairdo, patted the seat next to himself. Luckily for Kirigiri, everyone seemed to be in similar robed dress. An unlikely congregation of penguins. Now wedged tightly between Chihiro and another man with sharp facial features reflecting a sharp military hair style, dressed perfectly in his robes (hat and everything), Kirigiri was introduced to all members of the table. Kirigiri nodded composedly as her name was traded with another’s and she found herself wondering how a group of such vastly different people were all in such good friendships with each other. Of course she spotted the points of tension and higher levels of attachment around the table -however it all seemed to be taken in stride.

Soon she was drinking with the rest of them. She swapped idle bits of information: what course she was taking, where she was housed, place of growing up, mobile numbers - and found herself with more than a few lunch dates over the week. Despite a few members having grating personality aspects (the Junko girl had sharpened her smile with a malicious edge; Sayaka Maizono clung on tightly to Naegi’s arm to spell out the clear territorial ownership Kirigiri already knew was there and didn’t want for herself; Yamada spoke drolly about something none of the others apparently understood which seemed to be directed at her chest), she found them all charming in their own ways and had unknowingly charmed back. Naegi secretly watched her with glowing pride for his childhood friend.

This wouldn’t be the last evening out she had and was one of the few where everyone was dressed in robes which, though maybe regal looking, were more trouble than tradition was worth. There wasn’t always the full sixteen of them; sometimes she went out with her flatmates, whom she now knew consisted of Naegi, Chihiro, Oowada, Maizono and Yamada. Sayaka insisted on an almost daily basis to drag her out on a ’girls’ day out’ with Chihiro and the impromptu nature of these callings, ranging from 7:00am to two in the morning and never with a fixed weekly date, resulted in a solid working procedure from Kirigiri. Her essays were finished promptly the day she received them as it turned out Sayaka wouldn’t take no for an answer. “Oh you simply must come, there’s this absolutely darling little coffee shop right next to this gorgeous boutique! And there’s an antique record store which is totally worth our time! I know you’ll love it!” There had been some initial distrust as Maizono took her time to evaluate the threat she may cause to her relationship with Naegi, but she finally realised Kirigiri only saw her closest friend as, well, her closest friend. Hifumi would practically drool when he saw Kirigiri and Naegi interacting, babbling on about the perfection of their pale quadrant, but the reference was lost to the both of them - it seemed a harmless enough phrase anyway, so they let it be.

Of her first lunch dates, Sakura Oogami and Asahina Aoi were most eager to see her simultaneously. They gave her the grand tour of the sports facilities and were extending an invite to her to join them in their regular training routine and then some by offering to find her a workout regime. Politely declining the intense training sessions the two underwent, Kirigiri instead mentioned how she may see them for her morning jog around the track, or her occasional swimming pool visitation. Happily taking this as a consolation, they had all made their way to a café which dealt in fresh fruit juices and high quality salads. Occasionally after that Kirigiri would still find one or other of them outside her door with an offer to smuggle her into the gym before Sayaka sprang a compulsory shopping trip on her (something which Kirigiri would’ve been running out of funds because of, if not for Maizono’s reckless generosity with her money. Kirigiri had heard how a brief liaison with the global stage in teen years could easily set Sayaka up for life, but she was striving now to focus her attentions on medicine and helping others).

Chihiro had also offered to introduce her properly to both Oowada and Ishimaru, resulting in Kirigiri finding herself in a quiet tea shop with scones and jam discussing gang politics and the legal system. Arguments always seemed on the horizon, but the companionable atmosphere the three created calmed any apparent storm. The homely nature of the three reminded Kirigiri of the well painted family portraits one found in the homes of couples with about three thousand grand-children. Upon further investigation, she found a comfortable yet loose relationship enshrining the three, a combination of friendship and romance. 

On their fourth tea, scones and legal debate gathering, they were joined by a habitual fortune teller, Yasuhiro Hagakure, and Leon Kuwata who wasn’t academically excelling, but had made his way in on a sport’s scholarship from the USA. Soon they were taking turns with divulging the future of the Conservative party, of whether it would wreck and burn (Oowada), take a sudden turn towards justice and fix the world more successfully than any party before (Ishimaru) or if they’d all suddenly find themselves playing shadow puppets deep within the Shadow Cabinet itself (Hagakure). Soon, their meet ups were a part of Kirigiri’s regular Friday schedule and she unexpectedly found herself far out of what her comfort zone had been mere weeks ago without any notice of having come so far in the first place. For that she was grateful.

She also met up with the others on occasion, normally passing Togami and Fukawa on their way back from Thursday lectures as she was heading from home to hers with enough time to spare for a brief chat. Junko had herself part time work in the group’s favourite pub, so was subsequently as often seen as the sun itself. Her sister, Mukuro, was less seen as she tended to stick around her favourite haunts, the gym and the library. She was a common sight for Sakura and Aoi, as well as the occasional Mundo and Ishimaru, but not so much for the others. But that seemed to be fine; she was a conserved person, thoughtful yet determined by nature and awkwardly detached, latching onto only her sister with any consistency. Again, she still suited the group well with its wide variety of characters. 

However, there was one source of awkwardness whom Kirigiri had only had contact with once so far. She would constantly be told how wonderful Celes was, really, she was just having a hard time of it, and she’ll be back to normal as soon as possible – this was always followed by stunted, nervous laughter. Kirigiri, whilst not curious in the case of Mukuro, certainly was concerned for the emotionally absent Celes. Which was odd, considering that whilst, yes she may have opened up a bit, Kirigiri was still as collected and reserved as ever… only with more self-confidence and the feeling that these people whom she’d grown so close to at such short notice were like bodily extensions. She knew at her core that if one was hurt, she would fight tooth and nail to bring the perpetrator to justice. Celes was by no means an excuse to this rule.

But of course there was one problem; Kirigiri had no idea of how to help someone who she’d barely seen more than twice. When she confronted a problem, she didn’t normally know exactly what to do and this was mostly because she never came across problems. So she did the only thing she could think to do. Nothing, until the opportunity to do something arose.

So it was one dark day in October, nearing the end of the term when Kirigiri was sat alone at the breakfast table, cradling a cup of green tea in her hands. It was the season of large jumpers, good boots and layers in abundance. The household had decided to try and get through the final leg of term without turning on the heating and so most found themselves wearing the entirety of their wardrobes at once. The thin, semi-detached house and its three floors didn’t provide brilliant insulation, cold breezes winding around the two floors of bedrooms and out through the front door’s cracks (after, of course, circulating the miniature kitchen space and wildly decorated sitting room) due to walls which provided full 24 hour service of the neighbour’s children, squealing and screaming day in, day out. 

Chihiro and Sayaka had left earlier to go buy some woollen stockings, and probably an army of other winter supplies, vowing to bring back a pair or five for Kirigiri. Naegi was currently working the day away in the local Starbucks, his breaks spent consuming pumpkin spice lattes by the dozen thanks to his employee discount. Oowada was currently taking his motorbike down to the local mechanics, finding the exhaust became weak hearted in the winter months. Yamada was in bed with a heavy cold. Or at least so Kirigiri thought, having seen him the day before come in sullenly from his ‘manga and hidden meanings’ club, sneezing all the way upstairs to get ready for that evening’s Lounge meeting.

Kirigiri had nothing to do. Unlike the others, she still wasn’t a welcome member of the Ludenburg Lounge and so wasn’t nursing a hangover (she tried not to be bitter about this, and the others reassured her they were still fighting her cause with the owner). Due to her new Sayaka induced work timetable, her work had been cleared until her next lecture. It was too cold to go anywhere. It was too early for Christmas television, so, as usual, there was nothing good on. But, she had reasoned, she’d never been much of a TV person. Kirigiri huffed, looking out the frost stained window, the empty street no more inviting than any other activity she could think of, being too cold to really do anything. Her toes were almost numb in her hand-knitted socks, an unbearably lumpy attempt from her younger sister back home, and again she rubbed the side of the mug against her face.

Her phone was turned off in front of her. The others had all declined the offer to come over for tea, it being a long trek through wet, cold, slushy streets of ancient looking buildings to get to hers. Instead they’d all parlayed, attempting to satisfy her loneliness with promises for when the weather was better. Again Kirigiri groaned; she should’ve gone with Sayaka when the offer was given, but it being too early for her to want to even move she had declined, seeing as her bed was simply too warm and crisp beneath her. Kirigiri poured half a shot of vodka (give or take) into her mug, stirring with her spoon, sipping thoughtfully. Maybe she could just pass the day in a drunken reverie and risk drawing on her scarred hands again. Maybe she could accidentally rediscover Chihiro’s super-secret stash of weed, hidden in a glasses case on the coffee table in the next room. Like really, the only person there who even wore glasses was Yamada and his glasses case was a collectable item of some sort which he kept close on his person all the time. It was the most obvious hiding place for anything Kirigiri had ever seen.

Kirigiri was placing pinch after pinch from glasses case to roll when Yamada came storming down the stairs, blowing his nose loudly. He was muttering some sort of chant going along the lines of “Fuck, bollocks, balls, shit, damn” before he stopped the angered cursing upon seeing Kirigiri, who was placing the joint into her mouth. “Oh, um, good morning, Kyouko Kirigiri.” He mumbled, seemingly uncomfortable, “Sorry about that little, uh… it was inappropriate for such a fine woman as you.” Kirigiri lit the joint, staring at him in mild bewilderment. She wasn’t entirely certain where this image of her and apparently every other one of their female friends had sprung from, but she wouldn’t deter him from the questionable image of purity. She blew out the smoke. “I… didn’t know you smoked?” Kirigiri shrugged in response, watching Yamada start rushing around the kitchen, rifling through cabinets, throwing out her tea and washing out the mug so as he could pour a red bull into it, drinking hurriedly. Kirigiri coughed lightly, waving a hand in front of her face, now just more confused.

“Why did you…?” she gestured to the mug and was met with an equally confused look from Yamada who didn’t quite know either. Moving now at a calmer pace, he mopped his forehead with a peach coloured handkerchief.

“I’m not sure… I’m just ill. No inspiration is coming to me now to paint my glorious warriors of femininity in their most celebrated of ways. I no longer know what my actions are for, or what the stubby things on the end of my arms are. I am like a dog who has well and truly lost every single bone he ever found. A wanderer alone in the world, with nothing else to explore. I am without purpose with this wretched cold.” He sighed, sneezed, blew his nose, sipped his red bull, “I also need to clean someone’s house.”

“Like every other week?” Kirigiri asked, suddenly feeling that much more talkative. She tried to blow a smoke ring, failed and sniggered. What fun. “At least you have your club friends to help, yes?”

“No. My brothers have abandoned me on this day, for there is a convention this very weekend and we drew straws to see who would be staying to do the cleaning we promised.” His shoulders slumped dramatically, “I drew the short straw. I miss out on the world of my brethren for luck truly has left me along with my magnificent muse. I am ill, and in my illness I must also do a lot of cleaning… on my own.” He sniffed, more out of need than any dramatic requirement. It worked on a befuddled Kirigiri anyway.

“I’ll help. Got nothing to do anyway.” She closed the glasses case and put it back on the coffee table, giggling all the while. She half skipped into the hallway, pulling on her boots and a large coat which probably wasn’t hers, captivated for a moment by the way the hall light caught on the leather toe of her shoe. When Yamada shuffled into the hallway, she hooked her arm through his, pulling him onto the streets, barely letting him stop to lock the door.

 

Celes was woken by a key fumbling in the lock of her front door and one almost panicked voice. She bolted upright, eyes raw and itchy, hand flying to a bottle on her duvet before realising it was her bi-weekly cleaners. She slumped back amongst the covers groaning, rolling the duvet along her body. It was bloody cold. Again the voice made some hurried exclamation and then the door opened, keys rattling, boots shuffling and goodness did they have to make such noise? Girl’s got a headache. There was a brief moment of quiet in which Celes assumed they were removing coats and shoes, placing them in a pile by the door. She listened, mouth half open, eyes half stuck together, to the apparently largely diminished club walking around her flat. One of them turned on the kettle she’d left out. She wasn’t heartless (or not entirely). Someone giggled a dying out giggle.

Celes was quite content remaining in bed until they left until hunger pains told her sorry but no. Celes moaned into her duvet, having never been seen by the manga and hidden meanings club whilst they were cleaning and quite happy with it remaining like that. Much less when she was hung over, without makeup and only in underwear. She had dignity and had to retain control over these people. She didn’t want to clean her apartment, especially not when they seemed so willing. Her stomach grumbled again. “Fuck that.” Celes muttered, standing and throwing a large jumper over her body, unravelling down to her mid thighs. She picked up a pillow and cuddled it like the brave soldier she was. Maybe like this she could at least fluster them and retain the element of surprise.

She unlocked the door to her bedroom, almost stumbling through the doorway, turning to confront the rather large group of twenty, finding herself in the presence of two. Yamada, of course, was there, and… some girl who she vaguely recognised? The air around her was sweet smelling and Celes almost rolled her eyes. A stoner. “Good morning.” She said, not bothering with her usual regal tones in front of Yamada, who responded likewise with a clogged up voice. “Excuse me whilst I make myself breakfast.” She knew this would surprise Yamada, but didn’t bother to turn to see his face of confusion and, dare she say it, hope. It was only breakfast, you’d think she wasn’t human.

Cracking an egg which had appeared in one of her shopping baskets two days ago into a pan with butter, she began frying herself some breakfast. She placed a slice of to-be-toast in the toaster and found herself some ham. She even made herself some tea without additional alcoholic substance, just to go all the way for once. She knew she would later regret this rather large breakfast she was making for herself, especially with Yamada next door. She knew he’d report it to the others; “Celes is eating! Celes is getting better! Celes didn’t drink this morning! She’s getting better and she’ll be normal again! We need to encourage this development!” At the thought of it she almost turned the stove off. She was genuinely just hungry. It wasn’t that she wouldn’t have a drink later or anything. The fresh hope that she’d give would only lead to disappointment. She sighed, moving the frying pan back and forth to loosen the egg from the surface but, in doing so too vigorously out of anger at herself, she ran her hand over the hob flame. She hissed dropping the frying pan back onto the hob with a clatter, turning to put the burn under the cold tap.

“You okay?” The girl with the purple-white hair had entered the kitchen, eyes darting around and immediately deducing what had happened. Celes narrowed her eyes coldly.

“I’m fine.” Her words were a low growl, but the white haired girl ignored her, stepping forward into the kitchen. “Stay back.” Celes exclaimed, her face suddenly wild, looking at the stance of the girl, frozen in fear. She couldn’t read the determined look on her face, couldn’t read the soft look in her harsh eyes, the outstretched hand meaning nothing. Celes hadn’t drawn a blank on someone for a long time. Instead she took a step back, removing her hand from the cold water too soon, clutching it tightly to herself. “Stay back.” She repeated. The girl watched her, a slight frown on her face before swivelling on her heel towards the toaster. It had finished; Celes hadn’t even noticed. The girl placed the toast on a ready plate, folding the ham neatly on top. She moved the plate to the other side of the kitchen by the stove, putting it down as she then began to pick up where Celes had left off with the egg.

“You’ll want to put your hand back under the tap.” A quiet voice said, the girl remained focussed on the task at hand. Celes waited warily, watching her with wide eyes. “It will hurt if you don’t.” the voice informed, still speaking towards the wall. Celes stepped hesitantly back towards the tap, the cold water still running, and gently slid her hand back, eyes like startled orbs still on the girl not too far opposite her. When her perception wasn’t frenzied by pain, shock or panic, Celes found the girl wasn’t as intimidating as first perceived. The fast movements, ice eyes were just nothing. Instead of apparent imminent attack there was, hidden under the bulky wool jumper and thick tights, a refined elegance but Celes couldn’t source it. Every move observed by a quiet Celes was refined, directed, poised, and even graceful in a bizarre way, considering the girl was only frying an egg for goodness sake. The long, thick silver locks hid the girl’s face, but Celes was certain the face was a familiar one.

“I know you.” She stated confidently, her eyes tightening in confusion. She knew her but couldn’t place her. The girl turned back, revealing a calm face momentarily. A small smirk was on her mouth.

“Yes.” Was the answer, and she turned back. “Your friends are my friends.” The seemingly cryptic statement brought some light on the subject, however no further information looked like it would be supplied.

“We met in a store?”

“And at a pub, yes.” There was a small shift as weight was redistributed. The egg was whitening finely, beginning to crisp at the edges. As the girl checked the underside of the egg, she continued, 

“You don’t talk to many people.”

“Neither do you.” Celes bluff was obvious, but her guess had been correct. Again the girl focussed her attention back on her, no smile on her face now.

“No.” There was quiet in which they both observed each other, judging and calculating what move would next be made. Outside the kitchen came the clink clink of Yamada picking up bottles and rehousing them in the glass recycling. He sniffed noisily. “Is this fine?” The girl moved the frying pan into Celes line of vision.

“What?”

“The egg.”

“Oh, uh…” Celes was caught off-guard. To make up for it, she inspected the egg thoroughly. “It’s okay.” And without a word, the egg was slid on top of the ham and the plate was handed to Celes. She stared at it as if she’d never seen a plate before, then back up to the girl, one eyebrow raised, questioning the random act of kindness. To her surprise, the girl blushed, shrugged and moved to exit the kitchen. At the doorway she halted suddenly, as if fighting internally about whether to keep moving or not, fidgeting, clenching and unclenching one gloved hand. Finally, she did look around to Celes.

“I’m..." a name was on the tip of her tongue, but Celes could see the girl swallow it down instead, "I'm housing with Naegi.” And with that, she left to help Yamada who was instantaneously filled with words of thanks. Celes closed the kitchen door carefully, burnt flesh crooked away from the door, trying not to gape or stare. She turned, looking for her kitchen mirror, scrutinising her pale tired face and red, red eyes. Damn it she looked tired. And bad. Like crap. She checked her teeth, breathed into the palm of her hand and sniffed cautiously, getting hit in the face with old cider. Celes rearranged her wild bed head, trying to flatten it, catching her burn on the tufty hairs, hissing again quietly in pain. She sidled back towards the sink and the plate, returning her hand under the steady trickle of water, not yet ready to move it. For a moment she wondered if she should go and help the two cleaners clean; she quickly struck the thought from her mind, finding her food and cramming it into her mouth in very few, very swift bites.

 

It was obvious from Yamada’s face he noticed the drastic change in Kirigiri’s mood upon exiting the kitchen. “Glad you’ve returned from dealing with the young mistress.” He snickered, blushing faintly, “Oh, coming here today has certainly filled me with the lascivious strokes of mastery it takes for one master such same to press pen to paper and slash at it until I have carved my new masterpiece from naught!” He chuckled darkly into his palm, “Oh the depravity! Two fine young women finding themselves in such positions of wonder and lust, finding each other, both confident in looks and sexual appeal! Oh the sparks, the sparks!” He almost doubled over with what looked like pained joy, “The wonderment the three dimensional world has granted me to see! This world which is too unexplored for the marvellous two dimensional girl! A whole world to be explored which has been left insofar untouched by my talented hands! I shall add my name to the refined artists of this world! Oh mighty, mighty girls!” with that, he sneezed and spent the next few seconds blowing his nose, muttering about ‘firstly, recovery for the strong’ and ‘replenishing his strength’ for the ‘trials ahead’. Kirigiri, meanwhile, had ignored the tirade and was glancing around for a mirror and finally, having no joy, turned back to her comrade.

“How do I look?” she asked quickly, panic in her eyes. Yamada looked up from his handkerchief, a questioning look on his face. “My hair, my face, how do I look?” She sniffed the neck of her jumper which still wreaked of weed. She patted her pockets for a mirror, but as not being a normally vain person, and having left home in such a state, she found no such luck in the folds of her pockets. She paced, clenching fists of hair, paced and paced, ran back to Yamada, holding him by the scruff of his jumper. “Goddamn you, how do I look?” she snarled hoarsely.

Yamada simply held onto her wrists squinting at her eyes, looking from one to the other a questioning, searching look on his face. Kirigiri watched him, her eyebrows slowly un-knitting themselves in confusion at his actions. “What…” she began to ask but Yamada with speed released her wrists and squealed, pointing right at her face, almost touching the bridge of her nose with a huge, sweaty finger.

“Is it?” he screeched. “Are you? What?” Kirigiri didn’t have time for his dramatics. The man acted like they were in a movie half the time, and this was one of the times Kirigiri had precisely no patience for his disparaging theatrics. She raised a hand to slap some sense into him, but restrained herself forcefully.

“Just answer me.” She asked again calmly.

“Furious? You look normal? Pretty? I don’t know!” Yamada cowered in a heap, begging for her to spare him from her fearsome wrath or something similar. Kirigiri huffed, patting her face quickly, not feeling anything wrong; no dry patches of skin, no out of place body part, no sudden additional appendage. She rubbed her forehead, trying to calm down. What exactly was she expecting? She couldn’t tell without a mirror and men had never been useful creatures in the line of aesthetics. Except maybe to ogle, but she didn’t have time for that nonsense. After having caught Naegi once, she’d pushed him against a wall and explained calmly how their friendship was going to work; after that, she’d never caught him again. Okay yes, maybe she said she’d like to spend more time with him, but what she meant was as a friend. But here and now…

“Damn it.” She scolded herself, picking up a bottle off the floor and inspecting her distorted and green-tinted face, immediately discarding the bottle and reflection into the recycling box. She crouched on the floor, rubbing her face, finally touching the ground from her high. She cast her attention briefly over to the still cowering Yamada, uttering a small “sorry” before continuing the chores she was there to help with. She needed to get that emotional imbalance in check, be what past therapists had called a solid stone, a firm foundation - and other such alliterated metaphors – of emotion.

Kirigiri’s eyes quickly darted across the room, watching for any bottles that Yamada could’ve missed. Instead of the outstretched bottle necks hidden in an ocean of deep crimson and grey, her eyes fell upon a withering rose sat placidly in a neat jar. The browning leaves and feeble petals caused her to frown. No-one should leave a rose too long without care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so Kirigiri's snaps there, when she freaks out and is all up in Yamada's business... That's the bit I'm unhappy with. The substance abuse? Pfft, who cares about that, they're all dorks anyway, dorking around university, being dorks.  
> But okay, so Kirigiri snapping at Yamada. In this, you'll probably see she isn't the secure, emotionless Kirigiri we know her to be in canon Hope's Peak Academy. If you hand't realised, both Kirigiri and Celes are supposed to be nervous wrecks and prone to emotional swings in this.
> 
> Someone once hypothesised that, in canon Universe, Celes didn't come across as one who would lose her composure quite so suddenly and quite so violently. They reasoned that this was because Celestia Ludenberg was supposed to be in complete control of the situation at all times. I do believe that would be the same for Kirigiri. When they lose control of themselves/ the situation, they are likely to act direly, furiously, unreasonably. Possibly even stupidly. Seeing as Celes is drinking herself stupid and Kirigiri isn't stable in contact with others, I figured their reactions to the awkwardness of their meeting were okay, but I don't know...
> 
> Sharing is caring yo, I'm happy to revise this until it's right. Please send me your thoughts :)
> 
> Also, little bonus:  
>  **UNI UNDERGRAD COURSES  
> **  
>  Kirigiri: Psychology, Philosophy and Linguistics  
>  **Celes:** Maths and Stats  
>  **Togami:** Classics  
>  **Fukawa:** Classics  
>  **Oowada:** Engineering Science  
>  **Chihiro:** Computer Science  
>  **Ishimaru:** Law (Jurisprudence)  
>  **Sakura:** History  
>  **Asahina:** Archaeology and Anthropology  
>  **Junko:** Psychology, Philosophy and Linguistics  
>  **Mukuro:** Biological Sciences  
>  **Hagakure:** Experimental Psychology  
>  **Yamada:** Fine Art  
>  **Leon:** Music  
>  **Naegi:** Classics  
>  **Maizono:** Medicine


	4. Winter: Forte

The cold months had flooded in, the streets of Oxford decorated with the early signs of Christmas. The term had finished and most of the sixteen had retreated home against the weather. Only a few remained; Kirigiri as her family were spending the holiday an ocean away, Naegi as he didn’t want to abandon his friend in her lonesome state, and Maizono as she didn’t want to abandon him (“and besides, my family are all bawling for my cash. I’ll have a skype Christmas with my old bandmates. It will be,” hand gestures, “amazing!”). 

A few of those outside the house had remained, and Kirigiri suspected rather strongly that Celes was definitely one of them. She didn’t strike the detective as a family person. Or, better put, her family probably weren’t Celes people. Despite her oozing charm and eternal fountain of charisma, Kirigiri couldn’t see anyone’s parents being proud of their drunken daughter setting fire to the Christmas tree or inebriating her young cousins. But then there was always an exception to the rule… No matter what the truth was concerning Celes’ parents happiness concerning drunken youngsters and seasonal house fires, it didn’t stop the fact that Celes hadn’t travelled home for the winter holidays.

Now what one must understand about Kirigiri’s current student home was the heating system was temperamental. And so when the boiler decided the work it did wasn’t given enough attention and it never received its full thanks, it gave out tremendously. Most of the few main pipes were broken and the landlord called in reinforcements before next door could be claimed as well. Soon Kirigiri, Naegi and Sayaka found themselves with duvets, pillows and the majority of their worldly belongings (exact one laptop each, one phone, sponge bags and a lot of clothes) in the Lounge, marvelling at the wonderful world of piping. “My”, many a conversation had begun, “piping sure is wonderful. I wonder how it decides to do what it does.” Naegi questioned, his eyes full of stars and his blood mostly alcohol.

“I agree. The sheer awesomeness of its willpower to drive it to the most extreme of actions is beyond me. If I could summon as much inner strength and self-confidence, I wouldn’t need a degree in medicine.” Maizono’s voice came from beneath a cushion, the galaxy alighting in her fascination. Kirigiri and Celes stared in disbelief at Naegi and Maizono, chattering away in seemingly normal discussion. Kirigiri leaned forward and plucked a bottle from Naegi’s hand.

“No more for you.” It had been very kind of Celes to supply her friends (plus their purple-palette housemate; the two weren’t quite there yet) with her spacious floor and Kirigiri did not find it suspicious at all. The only thing mildly upsetting about the situation was it seemed Celes was hell bent on not uttering a single word in her direction. 

Kirigiri could not think of any way she had wronged the girl; in fact the only instance of potential ill will was Celes backing away from her in terror when Kyouko had only meant to help. Of course, Kirigiri had connected the irrational fear of another’s advance to one experiencing or one who has experienced severe physical trauma. So at least she knew it wasn’t fault on her part which caused the rift Celes had created; the girl was probably embarrassed at her own actions and Kirigiri wasn’t to blame at all. God damn was she good at this. No matter what the issue was, that still gave her no way forward. “Hey, I know you have a drinking problem and have suffered a seriously traumatic event in the past, but please tell me about it anyway, we’ve met twice and I want to be your friend.” There were probably better ways to say that. Probably. 

 

Nonetheless, no matter which way Kirigiri looked at it she was still filled with extreme gratitude that Celes had invited her friends to spend Christmas and New Years with her. Naegi and Maizono were also quite surprised at this action and would nudge and wink in Kirigiri’s direction when they had the motor functions to perform them. They were children and Kirigiri gracefully ignored them, pulling pouty, grumpy ‘no stop that’ faces whenever there was even the hint of a suggesting prod coming her way. But whilst their antics were immature, Kirigiri did have to think. This was, clearly, not a normal act for Celes to perform but Kirigiri sincerely doubted it was because of her own good looks as the others avidly emphasised. She had heard, after all, that Celes was ‘getting better’. She’d heard marvellous tales from the others of how ‘Celes ate breakfast this morning’ or ‘she didn’t get a third bottle’ and wondered if this kindness really was another stepping stone in the pale girl’s road to recovery.

A bony elbow found its way into Kirigiri’s ribs. “You spaced out there.” Naegi said, grinning as he hopped onto the sofa next to her. His hair had fluffed up due to the friction of Sayaka’s jeans. Kirigiri rolled her eyes as she leaned against him, inhaling, exhaling, sighing deeply.

“Sorry.”

“Were you thinking?” Kirigiri scrutinised the boy who had only been performing word art on the topic of plumbing a few minutes ago. The sudden sobering was suspicious. “Thinking about the pipes? They are damn amazing, though.” Kirigiri was not surprised, showing her complete lack of astonishment by pushing Naegi’s face with a cold hand.

“You’re not drunk, you’re just silly.” She quipped, as Naegi shrugged his shoulders with a ‘caught me’ expression pasted across his youthful visage. “But yeah, still thinking.” Celes was sat on an armchair opposite the three, laptop resting on her thighs. When she was curled up on a chair, she looked small, almost enclosed, taking up as little space as possible. Like she was battling the cold with her bare skin -a brave yet recklessly stubborn soldier, crying out against the day which couldn’t be stopped from coming. Man could not shout down the sun and Kirigiri was reminded desperately of her own self, treading her own hallways lightly, as if not to disturb the true residents, as if she didn’t belong in her own home, her own heart. In the jar on the side, the rose had died. Kirigiri eyed it, the warmth and her own tiredness bringing her tears of sleep. She yawned.

“Thinking about what?”

“Nothing of substance. Nothing of worth.” Kirigiri answered, looking away from her closest friend’s enquiring eyes as he wrapped his arms, shrouded in large hoodies, around her. Naegi sighed and she could feel his chin brush fine strands of white-purple hair as he chuckled.

“You know, you do tend to only think of things which are worth something. Penny for your thoughts?” Kirigiri smirked and shook her head, the English saying tickling her eardrums. Colloquialisms of new countries always amused her; the plain genius of the everyday tongue intrigued her, capturing and firmly holding her attention. It was part of her reason for going for a course which dabbled in linguistics. That and her bi-lingual upbringing of English and Japanese confusing and fascinating her from the beginning. Even now she’d start a sentence in one language and end in another (of course, this tended to be when she was tired or simply drunk). The idea that some people only thought in one language, that she thought and spoke in two, the knowledge of the cultures, the vastly different alphabets… If there was one thing Kirigiri loved, it was language’s relationship with the brain.

She inhaled deeply, “Language is amazing.” Across the room, Celes let out a small chuckle, glancing their way. Naegi noticed, looking towards her.

“Celes, you liked that?” he inquired. Celes turned back, appearing almost surprised her amusement was picked up on. She smiled softly, sweeping her fringe to the side with a deft flick of her wrist.

“Yes. It was… sweet.” 

Kirigiri flushed faintly as Naegi jostled her, beaming from ear to ear, teasing her and saying “Oh just wait until you hear the real Kyouko Kirigiri. She’s got quite the mouth! Sweet isn’t one of her most famed features!” only stopping when a fist hit his gut, firm but friendly. Instead of stopping, Naegi continued to tease, messing up Kirigiri’s fringe. 

“Aw, sweetie.” He cooed, Kirigiri rolling her eyes at him, hiding her face from Celes. Naegi smiled, jostling her with an arm, again looking towards Celes. “‘Sweet’ isn’t normally a word you use to describe people, Celes.” He commented casually, but Kirigiri could strip apart her friend’s poker face with the sort of ease which only comes from knowing, and with firm handle of this knowing Kirigiri could see that he was curious. Casual comment her foot. For appearances sake, Celes also looked like she was merely dabbing her toes into the warm water of idle chitchat, but behind her bluff she’d been training for an across oceans race. Kirigiri wondered if that second, hidden aura of competition was also a bluff. Celes certainly wasn’t your average gambler; she placed her bets with ease and wouldn’t ever be so readable. A double bluff would be a mere trifle to her.

“You are right Naegi. Sweet doesn’t have a home with me.” She said, calm as the wind –her eyes flickered to Kirigiri with the latter sentiment to her reply. Its icy sting pinched Kirigiri fiercely. Sweet didn’t have a home with Celestia Ludenberg. Kirigiri may not have had the patience to turn conversation into a metaphorical game of poker, but she had the sense to realize poker wouldn’t cover it; Celes had picked up her rapier and was slashing the air into thin strips before her. Her fists were up and Kirigiri wasn’t even wearing her boxing gloves. But Kirigiri couldn’t quite resist the challenge.

“A shame,” she spoke calmly, her lilac eyes resting easily on red, “you seem so sweet yourself.” Celes mouth transitioned into a smile, a quiver of an eyelash betraying her surprise. The rest of her painted face suggested mere amusement. Kirigiri’s face remained still, knowing Celes wouldn’t be able to resist raising the ante, jabbing forward for contact, drawing first blood.

“You flatter me.” Celes’ smile turned rueful. On the carpet, Sayaka’s eyes widened in realisation of what was transpiring between the two.

It was Kirigiri’s turn for her cheek to twitch in glee at the game, “I do.” The marital words twisted black in the context. Strike, first contact, full house –whatever gaming metaphor best suited. White halls, flowers and eternity in love sprang to mind as the two players aimed to bloody their opponent that much more. Kirigiri prepped herself, expecting a serious battle, fiddling words with deft wrists, impressing and astounding her opponent her only goal. If she was in the role, she would’ve been the gangster cracking her knuckles. Her verbal ammo began to load, jabbed flirts and combinations of brutal psycho-analysis slid into place, ready to be fired with a breath on the hair-trigger her tongue rested on.

She had not found someone so mastered in the game of words for a long time –she expected the two of them to manoeuvre around each other for many a while, for fast paced words and deftly placed traps to ensnare and to deepen the level of play. Kirigiri felt she could swap banter with this girl across from her for months on end.

 

The surprise showed on her face when red eyes left lilac. A triumphant smile sat plain and genuine on Celes mouth. “It may not surprise you, Kyouko, to hear that you are not the first to flatter me as you do.” Sayaka shifted uneasily: Naegi echoed her movements, neither looking at the victorious Celes. Kirigiri still had to see just what sort of cards she was holding for the others to fold so immediately and without even playing. “You are not the first to give me a kind word. Nor are you the first to show up to my apartment high.” Celes’ eyes did not stray back to Kirigiri’s; the victory to her was so mediocre she couldn’t be bothered with the prize money; Kirigiri’s confusion showed, as did her surprise. “It may not surprise you, dear Kyouko, to hear that you are not the first to attempt to impress me.” Celestia Ludenberg spat, turning enraged eyes on perplexed. 

Through the cloud of misunderstanding and attempted deception, Kirigiri saw the flicker, the trace, that fatal mistake of Celes’ own confusion flare up in her eyes past the rage; Celes had expected to hit the deadly target but on seeing Kirigiri’s miscomprehension, saw that maybe, just maybe, the two had been playing a different game entirely all along. Nonetheless, it would be bad to lose face now. “You are not the first to try to impress me, nor the first to surprise, to catch off guard. Dear Kyouko, you are not the first to try and break into my home with sweetness.” 

The fear was apparent in Celes' eyes; she’d let her cheating cards slip from her sleeve and could now only hope Kirigiri didn’t call her bluff. Dear Kyouko did nothing but remain seated, silent.  
Celes looked away quickly, her embarrassment showing, her apology plain, and her thanks evident. Maybe next time Kirigiri would get her entertaining word play, but today she had learned something about Celestia Ludenberg. Chased after, idolised… subject to what she didn’t want to witness. The image of crowds of fans drooling over her, scraping and scratching for contact, maybe for the warmth of the Lounge (more likely for the heat of her bed), performing the ludicrous, the distasteful to catch her attention. Kirigiri supposed she should be offended for being lumped in so tightly and quickly with these apparent others but found a small amount of comfort there. Celes had thought she was after her attention when Kyouko had merely existed. All she had done was be bored then attempt to fix it (dubiously and with drugs, yes) and cook the drunkard some breakfast. Such simple actions were hardly warranting attention –they were performed out of plain kindness. Kirigiri, thus, was either to assume Celes was paranoid towards kindness meaning debt or that she, whilst not striving for Celes attention, had successfully caught her eye. Kirigiri had made the gambler curious, and she surmised there was probably a price to pay for that somewhere, sometime.

But no price was to be paid there or then; in fact, Celes probably owed her one now, Kirigiri having not called her out on her mistake. However, Kirigiri had the creeping sensation there were no debts emerging from this. A spy does not confirm they’re a spy but denies it; why would she say ‘yes I was trying to impress you’? It would be proof of her guilt. In Celes’ mistake, neither had won and it made the room melancholy. Naegi and Sayaka fidgeted awkwardly, having strayed onto the battle field whilst trying to get back home to mummy and daddy. They were probably just thankful they hadn’t toed their way into the line of fire.

 

A tense half hour, thick with awkwardness, hostility and embarrassment, passed before anyone spoke. “Tea?” Kirigiri asked, removing herself from Naegi’s kindly embrace, stepping over Sayaka who was still splayed on the floor. Naegi nodded. Kirigiri turned expectantly towards Celes. She looked up steadily an amused smile on her face –not so much a smirk this time and Kirigiri counted herself lucky that Celes didn’t appear to be holding grudges. Maybe she really was special.

“I doubt you could make it to suit my tastes. I usually leave Yamada to make my tea… He’s been specially trained.”

“Is that why you drink so much alcohol?” Kirigiri sniped back, her lips pursed together to try and hide her own grin. They were already back on speaking terms. Behind Kirigiri’s back, Naegi’s face was set in stunned mystification. Sayaka had also sat up, now hugging her previously facial cushion, trying not to gawk at the two. Blue eyes flickered towards thin, stocking-clad legs before back between the gambler and detective.

“Sweetie, if I drank alcohol so often because I can’t make myself tea, I’d be dumb. It’s quicker and cheaper to get water from the tap.” Celestia stood, placing her laptop on her chair. “I’ll make it myself and show you how,” she winked, “for next time you offer.”

“That really isn’t necessary…” Kirigiri began in confusion but found Celes had inched right into her personal space. There was a flicker, a flame of something lurking in the deepness of Celestia’s eyes and, even though Kirigiri couldn’t put a finger on it, she knew it was there to entice.

“I also would like to talk with you if that is perfectly okay.” Celes drawled in a casual voice but her demeanour spoke of importance. Kirigiri could see the bump the red contacts caused and wondered what shade of colour Celes’ eyes really were. Kirigiri could do naught but follow her hostess –whose step had gained a sway which didn’t appear alcohol induced in the slightest- towards the kitchen and slide the doors shut behind herself. Naegi and Sayaka exchanged a look.

 

Having closed the doors, Kirigiri turned back to find Celes holding a small, seemingly handmade, saucepan. Without measuring, Celes placed a splash of milk in the pan along with water and a spoon of tea leaves. Kirigiri casually approached the side, flicking on the kettle. “I should apologise.” Celes said, her body slanted cruelly towards Kirigiri, but her eyes did not quite reach her target, “I completely missed your intentions and painted you out as a villain.” She bowed fluidly, her fringe brushing against Kirigiri’s thigh, just above the beginning of her stockings. Kirigiri’s blush was only faint, but she knew that the red eyes could see it there, splayed between her cheekbones like the trophy she knew Celes would take it as.

“It’s fine.” Kirigiri replied softly, fetching mugs from one of the cabinets, having been given the grand tour of the kitchen by Sayaka a week or so ago. She knew her way around Celes’ flat like it was her own; granted there wasn’t much to Celes’ living space, but the contents of cabinets was no longer a mystery she couldn’t broach for fear of being rude. A pale hand brushed Kirigiri’s gloved fingers.

“Why do you wear these? My home isn’t too cold, I hope?”

Kirigiri swallowed, “That’s… It’s a long story.” Kirigiri uttered, her voice barely above a breath.

“We have all of winter.” Celes quipped, eyebrows perched in surprise.

“It’s a story which I will tell in time.” Kirigiri amended, staring at the gloves now herself –unlike the gambler, she could visualise the skin underneath and didn’t need to kid herself with thoughts of pearly white skin, soft touches and graceful fingers. She knew her scarred, broken, burnt digits for what they were. The spindly, ruined muscle clung feebly to her withered bones. The thin leather gloves gave an odd appearance: they fit her hands perfectly -too perfectly if one looked close enough; the gloves served as the layers of skin she’d lost. They were her hands now.

That fire had scorched and killed and no-one had left unscathed. It had been ascertained. Kirigiri shuddered awake violently from the past and into bored red eyes which were failing to hide dancing fires of curiosity and concern.

“Well… either way.” Celes began again, now delicately holding Kyouko’s hands in her own, “You saved me from embarrassment; you may have realised my pride is my one true possession and you kept it so gracefully intact for me.” Her eyes glazed over with a seductive flare as her mouth curled and curved around the next few words, “I am in your debt, Kyouko.” It was suddenly very hard for Kirigiri to breathe. Celes’ fingers found their way to the edge of Kirigiri’s stockings; fingers danced around the rims, pulling them from the skin of Kirigiri’s thigh. “Your stockings are gorgeous if I may say so…”

Kirigiri’s hand flew to Celes wrist and in the lilac Celes could see the trace of sadness which she’d learn was always present, always there, always itching and scratching in Kirigiri’s soul to be acknowledged. Kirigiri’s lips breathed against the shell of Celes’ ear, “Do you really think I’m only worth a casual fuck, Celes?” Kirigiri drew back, knowing she’d caught the girl’s attention; she was poised without movement, staring in a refreshingly honest confusion. “You are worth more than a casual fuck.” She amended, smiling softly at the gambler, pouring boiling water into the tea pot laid out waiting, the tea bags infecting the brew immediately on contact. 

Kirigiri glanced over at Celestia then blushed the moment she did so, “I’d…” she cleared her throat, already cursing herself for being far too intimate when trying to cool the situation down, “I’d rather be your friend first, if that’s okay with you.” She shimmied around Celes towards the fridge, snatching up the milk, “Besides, if conversation can get you off, I have to say I’m surprised.” She splashed milk into the mugs; her mother had chastised her for her bad habit of making everyone else’s tea as strong as her own, “I thought you would have been harder to impress.” She hoped the joking tone could diffuse the situation better than she alone could.

A stuttering sound came from Celes direction, a cleared throat and then actual words, “I like words. Their effects, meanings, differences, slight alterations giving sentences new… flavour, I suppose. You’re surprisingly good with them.”

Kirigiri smirked, a tiny chuckle forcibly retained to her diaphragm, “Are you saying I’m good with words?”

A hand crooked itself momentarily in Kirigiri’s elbow, “I mean your use of words and language is… sweet.” Kirigiri watched Celes sashay away with a flare of victory. A hand remained placed on the door before opening it, “I assume you know how to put my tea in a mug for me?” Celes shot over her shoulder with a grin, loud enough for Naegi and Sayaka to hear. Kirigiri watched her leave, her eyes most certainly hovering between the girl’s skinny legs and the small of her back, her face taken aback and amused. She had the feeling that though she’d detained Celes from the main prize, the gambler had literally just flaunted away with her winnings. Damn this would be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, word wars and shit.  
> i don't know, this is kind of a build up (not a filler i promise whoops), like two awkward douches learning to talk to each other because they're both too dam stuck up in their own businesses to get down to business and hang out like normal people  
> dorks
> 
> also i just wrote the basic chap summary for the next/ next two chapter(s) and it's gunna be cool hopefully. hopefully it'll make you daw.  
>  **again, please tell me what you think** this work is going through the literary marshes un-beta'd, so i'd love to hear if there are any grammatical mistakes or if something's a bit off somewhere! **ta!**


	5. Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! I had to crank this chapter out along with doing school work, revising and being ridiculously ill. I should say, chapter schedules will be patchy; I do have a life outside fic. But thanks for waiting :)

Christmas was edging up slowly and Celes knew the change in her behaviour was apparent. She refused to get up until the afternoon, going to bed whenever she’d exceeded the usual amount of alcohol which would normally leave her level headed –this tended to mean she was in the presence of the other three for about five hours, maybe six if they were lucky. November was always a hard month for her and she so desperately wished she didn’t have to remember… Sorrowfully, she’d found the date was etched into her mind, like the birthday of a dead loved one. Well, she did reason to herself, it of course would be a hard thing to forget. It was such a shame as well, seeing how Kirigiri had finally warmed up a bit; a little bit of flirting really did make the world go around.

A hand flailed in the direction of her bedside table, knocking and nudging a radio, a lamp, a box of tissues until it clamped down on its prize; a DS console. Flicking the brightness on the screen right down in preparation, Taeko Yasuhiro powered up the device. It was always around this time of year her passed crazes caught up with her and she picked up her manga from the bottom of her drinks cabinet, stole Naegi’s games and consoles and had neither the courage or the confidence to face the pitying looks the others sent her way. They watched her, knowing exactly what was up, knowing exactly what was running and re-running and re-running and spiralling and circling and constantly passing through her mind every single minute, moment, breath of the day.

It didn’t help that there were so many things she could blame. Yamada for letting her borrow and read her first manga; her own divergence into gambling manga, her growing obsession with gaming. Her first step into the finery and decoration of cosplay at the age of thirteen. It hadn’t been great, not the work of the older patrons to the art, but she had always been deft-handed with a needle and thread. What she couldn’t manage herself, her mother had helped her with; the two weren’t especially close and only really came together over textiles and sewing. She founded her blame partially in Yamada taking her to her first ever convention. That was when she’d gotten in deeper than a few light mangas could get her.

She and Yamada had gone as complementary characters. He’d been skinnier back then –well, skinny was a bit kind. He’d been a scrawny lad, barely anything but bones, his glasses prescription only a tad less extreme, and his black curly hair pinned back by his older sister every morning before he could escape her. The two had been almost immediately whisked to the side for photos, stopped every time they gained five feet by the next eager fan with a camera. Posing seemed to come naturally to Celes, though the two still had that awkwardness of not only someone at their first shoot, but two young teens in front of a camera, any camera.

They’d both been so excited that day, stepping into this new world together. Yamada’s family certainly wasn’t rich, so he’d been saving and earning his money however he could -by cleaning cars, baby-sitting, house cleaning, walking dogs, the full works. Taeko had helped him out, him having been unable to contain his excitement with three months to go until his first ever convention and blurting out his ecstatic emotions and subconsciously roping the girl along. Even back then he’d had a bad habit of becoming incomprehensible when worked up about something, but when younger it wasn’t so much that he forgot someone else was listening as he trailed down the deep divergences of his own mind, but he stumbled and stuttered over his words with uncertainty. Back then, before Celestia Ludenberg had strutted into the picture, Taeko Yasuhiro had more time to listen to him and so when she heard the abridged stories of whatever he’d been reading at the time, she would latch on with equal enthusiasm herself and so couldn’t contain herself when Yamada spoke to her in excited whispers of what had been dubbed ‘The Really Cool Thing, The Convention Event… Thing’.

The two had been firm friends, and still were to an extent. Celes sighed, wishing she could still kid herself with that lie. The years hadn’t been kind to either of them. Yamada’s divergence from the more virgin side of manga and Celestia’s… cause of pain had separated the two, at least in terms of manga. Celes couldn’t herself bare to step foot amongst those crowds again and Yamada… the crowd he drew together -grown men with grotesque body pillows and dehumanising mouse pads, talking loudly by the more explicit stands and unabashedly comparing female cosplayers who weren’t just in earshot but standing right next to them- only caused Celes embarrassment. Though they spoke little now, when they did talk it was with the ease one tends to have with the childhood friend one never really lost contact with. 

Celes selected the icon for the game in the slot, knowing Naegi’s download collection to be pitiful; he didn’t seem to have understood the concept of downloading the games, though his collection of apps on his iPod was rivalling a collector’s. Soon enough, the tinny starter music was playing and she was, once again, immersed in a world she’d sworn to leave.

\---

Kirigiri was sat alone on the sofa which faced out the window, revealing the busy night of Oxford. Her legs were up against her hollow, empty chest. Since Celes had retreated from human contact, she hadn’t given herself a break, a chance to recover from beating herself up over the gambler’s sudden antisocial behaviour. The facts may have pointed away from her being at fault but… but… but so? She was present. She was there and Celes was not, so she must have done something, especially seeing as how Celes had begun to warm up to her –a little bit of flirting really had made the girl begin to regard her with a few steps forward from haughty suspicion. Her breath was shaky and her hands weren’t fairing any better. 

On top of her problems with Celes, imagined or real, Naegi had also lost his DS. Kirigiri saw her friend worried, even though he was only minutely distracted by the console’s absence, and felt pitiful as a friend. She knew the console wasn’t his prime worry. She could see it in his eyes, his stance, the way he walked and talked and acted and breathed that something was etched deep inside of him and rattling him around with despair. She saw the very same person echoed in Sayaka, saw her own nervous, unshakeable anxiety pounding away within her. Kirigiri could do nothing for either of them and she could do nothing for Celes and the situation was so helpless. How could she consider herself a friend of theirs if they didn’t even feel they could confide their issues in her?

A flush sounded and Naegi emerged from the bathroom. He glanced bleakly at a clock on the wall and frowned, grating his teeth together as he thought. He looked over to his friend, the back of her head illuminated against the ebbing light of Oxford. “Kirigiri…” he began. She appeared to rub her face then turned around to him, eyebrows raised quizzically. “Could you take Celes something to eat? I’m… ridiculously tired right now and I…” as his voice trailed off, Kirigiri’s face fell further. What could she do and what had she done to make her friend lose his words so quickly? “I think Celes would prefer to see you over me…” he smiled half-heartedly, the usual natural glow of his optimism faded in his crinkled, reddened and sore eyes. With that he stumbled off to a corner of the open space room where Sayaka had already settled down on a mattress.

It didn’t take long for his muttered whispers with Sayaka to drift into deep breathing and light snoring. Kirigiri wondered what they’d spoken of in their hushed confidence together. Knowing them, it was probably just heart felt nothings which meant only the world to them; with that in mind, she dismissed it as she quickly put together a ham sandwich. It seemed that at this point in the month, the others deemed it too unwise to leave their friend without supervision over food. The way they kept to regular snacks in this way gave Kirigiri the feeling that Celes truly would just waste away alone if the opportunity arose. The girl just didn’t seem to care any longer, but why she had to do so in such a dramatic way caused Kirigiri to wonder.

She approached the bedroom door, her toes curling in the fluffy carpet. She didn’t want to disturb the girl. If her company was really wanted, Celes would’ve revealed her gorgeously grumpy face to the world more often than the scant hours she set aside for it. She knocked, leather gloves not even squeaking, the fabric curling under her hands with age. They’d need to be replaced. Kirigiri waited for an answer before knocking again. This time she received a response. “Go away.” Kirigiri knocked again, having been told previously to keep persisting. Inside, of course, she was in turmoil. She wasn’t wanted! It was explicitly stated! So why was she still here knocking? Once again, Celes answered. “Go away, I’m masturbating.”

Most people would turn away at this point. Kirigiri opened the door, the sitting room light spewing and roiling into the previously unknown, disappointingly not gothic chambers of Celestia Ludenberg. The room’s owner in question was not currently splayed on her bed with her hands down her pants but was curled in the strangest position up near her pillows, thumbs furiously tapping away at Naegi’s DS. Kirigiri had been warned about the ‘masturbating’ tactic, having heard many a tale of how it was Celes’ second favourite thing to say aside from “Go away, I’m fucking your mother”, resulting in many hilarious antics and embarrassing moments.

Celes’ head snapped up from the screen, her jaw set tight, the hunch of her shoulders suggesting the barrage of insults lined up and waiting to be used, to be flung towards this person who dared to disturb her when she just didn’t want company -why couldn’t anyone understand that? She just wanted to be left alone, left to rot and left to just be without reminder, the reminder that she was a freak, a percentage, a proportion of unlucky people who help seminars always spoke about, always quoted. She was a sad story, but one in a million of others; her story wasn’t special and every time one of these people came to her door with words of sadness, of comfort… But it was not one of them. She visibly relaxed when she realised it was Kirigiri who knew nothing, not one of her friends who knew all. “Uh… I hope you’re not disappointed that I’m not doing anything?” she mentally smacked herself; amazing tactics, good first sentence. What’s it been, uncounted days? The girl probably thought Celes hated her and the first thing she said was ‘Sorry I’m not masturbating for you?’ Amazing. Someone had once said she was charming.

To her endless surprise, Kirigiri smirked, a small laugh pushing through her lips. Instead of answering the question, she proffered the plate in her noticeably gloved (‘who wore a t-shirt and then gloves, something’s up’) hands. “Ham sandwich?” 

In reply, Celes patted the bed beside her and muttered a “Please”. Kirigiri shut the door behind her as she shifted towards the bed, seeming to find her way quite capably in the dark. Celes figured that if anyone could make their way without any source of light, it would be Kyouko. Soon her welcome weight settled on the bed. From here, her uneasiness was palpable. “Uh, if that’s all…” she’d set the plate down beside Celes and already was shifting away. Celes' hand flew from the device she clutched so tightly towards the girl’s wrist, a desperate ferocity she hadn’t meant to convey becoming all too clear to Kirigiri now in that instance. Celes cleared her throat, a flailing attempt to clear the air.

“Please stay.” she murmured, trying not to think about how this was the first time she’d properly touched the girl without any… ulterior motives. This was her first genuine connection to her and she was gripping onto her wrist like the lifeline it was. Here in front of her, on her bed, was a person who _did not know_ , and thank God and the angels and the eternal heavenly choir. Celes was sat here in the midst of November and for the first time in what felt like forever she did not feel like some dirty, ruined and wrecked soul. Genuine, frozen, sad, warm and infinitely knowledgeable lilac eyes rested on her in an endearing confusion. With a wordless acknowledgement to her request, Kirigiri settled herself back down, lying on her stomach and peering at the DS screen. They were silent for a moment as Celes returned to gameplay, not quite realising until then that it was possible to feel like all the blood in her body had risen to her cheeks. “It’s Animal Crossing.” she supplied after silent minutes, noticing the unexpectedly intense look from Kirigiri who merely nodded.

“I’m just surprised. I’ve not seen many people put so much time into the flowers around town.” she shifted, head lolling against Celes’ shoulder, “Not even Yamada.” Celes couldn’t help but snort at that, reaching across the girl (regrettably disturbing her from the reassuring contact, ‘damn damn damn, Celes!’) and taking up the sandwich.

“Yeah, well, Mads only got into it because of me.” the words escaped before they’d registered in her mind just what she was saying about herself and her friendship history with Hifumi ‘Mads’ Yamada. Kirigiri only nodded slowly, putting Celes on the receiving end of a very lazy, calculated stare. Before long, her head was pressed against Celes’ shoulder and Celes was discreetly inhaling the lilac girl’s smell. It would be cheesy to say, but she smelled like home and that was something Celes hadn’t sensed in a long time. 

They stayed together like that for some time, steadily shifting closer until their bodies were firmly pressed together, hovering around the source of light. At one point, approaching maybe two in the morning, Kirigiri looked up towards her, away from the screen. She didn’t say anything, but just _stared_ at Celes. Celes managed to put off questioning for a total of a few moments. Without turning away from the screen she asked what was up. Kirigiri only shrugged in response. “Just… looking at your eyes.” She seemed to immediately seize with tension and embarrassment the moment the words slipped from her gorgeous lips, “Ah! Not like that. I meant… I haven’t seen your natural eye colour before.” 

Deep chocolate hazel flickered towards that intense, solid lilac. Celes' lips moved as if she were about to say something but no sound was uttered. She just gazed in glassy astonishment, completely frozen, suspended in her own suspense. Kirigiri watched, fascinated, as Celes tried to compute. “Uh. Your eyes are lovely… If I may say so…” Kirigiri mumbled, tucking luscious hair behind a slightly sticky-out ear. Without make up she could see the light freckling on Celes' face, the blush which she’d set off and damn, it just had to be a face she wanted to cup in her own two hands and call hers. Celes managed a jerky laugh, head snapping back to the screen.

“I thought you’d said you didn’t want to get it on.” Celes’ voice shook as she spoke, obviously trying to laugh off how flustered she was. Kirigiri smiled, her eyes still watching that rich chocolate-hazel shade. They flickered towards her, but on seeing she was still being watched, Celes quickly recovered. She chewed her lip nervously.

Kirigiri's smile faltered into a frowned. Concerning the girl next to her, normally her poker face would be unbreakable, hidden behind dancing humour, a flaring, flying amusement with flickering smirks and the burning sparks of a vicious sarcasm. “Celes…” the gambling gamer seized at the name, a new tension entering the locked spine. She shook her head slowly, remaining focussed on the screen.

“Not today. Not this month.” her head lolled backwards then around slowly, oh so slowly, towards Kirigiri. “Taeko. Please.” Both pure white eyebrows shot upwards, crinkling that beautiful, smooth forehead with worry lines. Taeko smiled a lopsided smile, her lips parted slightly. “It’s a long story” she supplied for an answer.

“We have all of winter.” Kirigiri mumbled, now scrutinising this new girl beside her, like she’d stumbled upon a mind puzzle of a level she’d never experienced before. The words from only so long ago brought peace to Taeko’s tense body.

“It’s a story I’ll tell in time.” she amended, really, really hoping she’d never have to tell it, never have to explain. Because then, if she did explain, if she did pour the truth before this girl on her bed, then to another person she’d become a statistic. She’d become just another victim and only ever worthy of pity, of worry for the fragile, the broken. Maybe Kirigiri would tell her the story of her gloves, but Taeko would never be ready to share the story of her ruin. Either way, she kept the smile on her face, but knew that Kirigiri knew she was putting it on. To be perfectly frank, Kirigiri probably also knew that she knew that she knew. Which Taeko also knew.

Someone’s stomach growled. Taeko realised it was hers. A quick, easy and warm smile broke across Kirigiri’s face, eyebrows raised in clear glee. “We could order pizza.” Taeko glanced towards the clock on her wall, pouting in displeasure.  


“It’s twenty past.”

“Twenty past what?”

“God, look at the clock yourself. It’s twenty past two. In the morning. Will anywhere be open?” Kirigiri only shrugged in response, pulling a phone from her trouser pocket. Taeko was not surprised to see she had a pizzeria’s number saved on her phone. As Kirigiri called, ordering from a menu off by heart, jerking her eyebrows up at Taeko when she caught her staring, Taeko’s insides ached. Damn, if she was falling for a stoic, funny, sweet, intelligent, gorgeous, serious, innocent, complex, heartbreakingly sad and otherwise emotionless girl with a smouldering cuteness, there’d be hell to pay.

The two seemed to fall into a dopey rhythm; a familiarity -which shouldn’t have been there in the due course of reason- took over their habitual nature. It was as if they’d forgotten they didn’t really know each other, that they hadn’t really interacted. When they found themselves falling off to sleep, they entered into a routine similar to one those who’d known each other for ten years and ongoing would be years well versed in. When settling down to sleep, they’d entered into a homely state that the two of them couldn’t have been in without the alcohol’s help. Kirigiri folded her jeans neatly and placed them with her bra on the desk. Her gloves rested neatly on top of the pile.

\---

Taeko woke up, legs curled around someone else’s. White snowy hair was splayed across the pillow next to hers, a contented face, peaceful, undisturbed in the morning (afternoon?) light resting only inches from her own. Scattered on the floor were pizza boxes, all empty apart from that one neither had realised had extra jalapenos which had been braved with glasses of alcohol, water and laughter. Taeko realised her arms were curled around the torso of the girl beside her. The blood throbbed around her body, and in any other situation she would probably have pulled herself away from the girl beside her for a drink or a piss or something other than contact; she wasn’t much of a morning cuddler. She found morning talks, that hazy, dopey grinning face next to hers, too sickening to be bearable. But somehow she found herself still with her arms around the girl when she awoke, eyelids heavy and battling against remaining sleep. “Morning.” she whispered. Kirigiri groaned in response, head tucking back under the duvet.  


“What time is it?”

“I don’t know. I think the others are up.” Taeko supplied, still watching the half closed eyes, feeling a stab in her chest when Kirigiri untangled herself from Taeko’s embrace. When she heard Taeko’s reply, she groaned again, trying to hide deeper under the duvet. She murmured something. Taeko joined her underneath the covers to hear it, feeling the warmth of the girl’s breath on her face. Lilac eyes desperately attempted to evade contact, head turned more towards the mattress than the person next to her. Taeko reached out a hand, not quite knowing what she was doing, a thumb tracing the delicate jaw line. Chocolate-hazel eyes widened, pupils dilated, as she traced and mapped the glowing sadness in the girl's bones.

“Naegi won’t leave me alone after this.”

“We only shared a bed.” Taeko shrugged it off in a non-committal fashion, fingers uncurling to rest on Kyouko's neck. Kirigiri sighed… Suddenly her whole body went stiff, ram rod. She flung the covers off her body, flying from the mattress, diving onto the floor, scrabbling amongst the boxes and piles of clothes for something. “What? What’s wrong?” the panic, the blazing, sheer panic of the lilac girl had startled Taeko awake, more awake than she would’ve been having just woken only mere moments ago. Her eyes caught red, angry flesh, scars, blackened tips of fingers as Kirigiri scrabbled along the floor, looking, searching desperately for her gloves. Taeko only stared at the too thin hands, the bony edges where bone should not perforate flesh.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Kirigiri exclaimed, her voice rising, shaking as tears entered her eyes. Hide the deformity, hide the mutation, that blasted cause of sympathy. Try to find her hiding place, try to recover her normality. With hands like these, no-one could look her in the eye. No-one could see her as anything more than a victim of fire, a victim of attempted murder. She was part of one of those families, upsetting a gang when her father had jailed a high up. A super star detective, he hadn’t understood how the system worked, but how could he? He had that itch for justice, to see the wrong put right and resolve things in favour of the peace loving world. Justice had won and there had been no mercy for her family. She didn’t have a father any more.

“God, Kyouko!” Taeko was on the floor beside her, had grasped her wrists firmly, pulling her from the floor towards her,"God's sake! Kyouko... God..." They sat kneeling on the floor, two survivors staring each other eye to eye as one sobbed and the other shook. Pale hands caressed blackened ones, soft skin smoothing across brittle, near breaking bones. These hands Taeko held were almost as ruined as her own, but equally ruined in a more plain, more brutal way. Taeko needed to say it was okay, needed to say they were of the same feather, that she understood, that here, right now, it was just so _so_ okay. But as the words readied themselves on her lips, Celestia refused them leave, refused to be weak or needy, refused to let Taeko break down and cry with the lilac girl in her hands. In her perfect, white, fractured and broken hands. They sat in silence together. Soon, one of them stood and the other did as well. They found the gloves and no more was said. They remained in that bedroom, not stepping out. They waited until it was dark again. They were in the cycle together and did not speak a word more than idle chit chat. There wasn’t anything which needed saying that they couldn’t communicate outside holding hands, reassuring hugs and bitter tears.

They were curled around each other until November ended and Celestia Ludenberg stood up and walked out of that bedroom door. She was ready to take over the world again and Kirigiri had never been so ruined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on how Celes' eyes look without contacts: http://astrogay.tumblr.com/tagged/beta-celes
> 
> Comments to tell me if I'm going in the right direction? Like, style wise. Was this chapter too rushed? idk, this is my ill chapter yo, but still my favourite so far, I think.


	6. The Crescendo

Christmas had arrived and passed like a breeze. The initial stress one experiences in the run up was worth it as the four friends sat around a potted plant singing camp fire songs and opened their small pile of presents and assorted bottles of liquor. It appeared that after the fiasco last year with presents being mixed up between the then fifteen, and Fukawa receiving the ‘joke dildo’ who neither the sender nor the intended receiver would confess to, they had all vowed to team up and buy one present for each friend as a group. It made things so much easier, and the presents were significantly better. With Kirigiri in the mix, the budget was just that bit more expanded.

Additional, smaller presents were also traded as the winter’s light, a relatively clear day for England, captured the dust hanging in the air, the light smattering of snow being ruled only a feeble attempt at a white Christmas. The four had all planned to take advantage of the centimetre of snow over their world, ideas of traipsing through Oxford’s streets and messing around in the park being the perfect way to spend the day. There was also the mention of attending an actual church service, but somehow it didn’t feel right. Taking advantage of the religious holiday and those who believed very firmly in what was celebrated on the day for the sake of their own pleasure certainly didn't sound too good when put into words. Besides, the need to escape and just exist on this day with each other was too ferocious to ignore; they found they’d rather be genuinely pleased than simply entertained. Around and on the streets, groups of people must have had the same idea, walking to and from the all-night bus stand to London trampling the fine white a murky brown. The pubs were crowded, warm breath and the smell of several different yeast-based beverages creating an unbearably jovial interior.

As Naegi and Sayaka linked arms in the park, seeing who could make the bigger breath of curling, roiling air, Kirigiri and Celes barely spoke and yet hovered close together. The group passed a busking group, wrapped up in wool and coats against the harsh winds of December, the throaty singer bobbing her head in time to the double-bassist’s stamping foot. Kirigiri glanced their way, admiring the rather fetching group and their cheerful music. Two guitarists stood together, a serious girl with long raven hair and the other, slightly taller with bright hazel eyes harmonising alongside the grey eyed bassist whose hands, clad in chunky fingerless-gloves, worked hard against the solid neck. The golden-eyed drummer and blonde accordion player were nearby, seemingly taking a quick smoking break. Kirigiri smiled at the happy group and placed a collection of coins into the guitar case on the floor. From her coat, Celes pulled a wine bottle and set it by the bassist’s feet, grinning ruefully.

The trees bristled in the wind, leaves lost to its freezing grip. The damp streets soon wound the group back home, the slick slabs causing Celes to momentarily lose her footing. Kirigiri dived to catch her, allowing the gambler to fall into her quick arms. She grinned playfully into the surprised eyes and reddening face. In response, she was jostled by the petite girl (and promptly elbowed mercilessly by a grinning Sayaka) with no-one daring to comment on how ‘sweet’ the two were. The Christmas lights shone reds and golds into the evening, lighting up the rapidly darkening sky in place of the absent stars and moon, clouded up by a moody stratosphere. A plane passed overhead, crowded with late holiday makers and those who couldn’t celebrate the holiday for work. Sour businessmen, hurried and pestered parents, those who simply didn’t celebrate the commercialised date, all sat row by row alongside each other, enabled a clear view of the night’s battalion of stars. Naegi pointed it out, voicing his wonder at where it was headed to the group. They all guessed, enjoying the night, the company and drinks they’d picked up along the way.

Before the time had registered, Christmas had been spent. The last few minutes together were spent on the balcony of the Lounge, watching fireworks alight the sky and fill their eyes. The cacophonous explosions sent shivers down Kirigiri’s spine, stuttering her heart gloriously and the sound dragging her mind back to the first firework show she remembered. The year felt like it was over already, and with Celes, battling against the stoic wall of chilled air with an armada of jumpers and tights under her jeans, hanging loosely from Kirigiri’s own arm, the detective knew the year had been good. Celes’ scarf was pulled over her mouth and Kirigiri couldn’t tell if the healthy red tinge in her cheeks was her blushing or a result of her heated breath. The fireworks erupted around and within her and her attention was captured again as Celes’ grandfather clock struck midnight and the four cheered, howling and shouting into the night. On the streets, a larger group of people hollered back, wishing them a Happy Christmas but their words were whipped away from the four’s ears as their whoops and trills of joy filled the night air alongside those beautifully dazzling fires of blue and gold, red and green which reminded the world that Christmas had indeed come.

 

\--

 

New Year’s followed soon after, the run up to it marked by the steady trickle of the rest of the sixteen returning home. Spending Christmas with family was all well and good, refreshing in the sense there was no need to care for oneself for a gorgeous few weeks of itchy jumpers and extra pounds. However, New Year’s was, as mutually agreed by all, a friends gathering. The plumbing had been fixed, but Celes had quietly suggested (as close to pleading as she would get) the others to stay until New Years, “just for the company, you understand”. No-one dared tease; apparently it was unthinkable to do so; any development was encouraged and in this case Celes actually wanting to cling probably wasn’t a healthy thing to encourage. To be honest though Kirigiri couldn’t really say that for certain, having only ever had experience being alone with what counted only as little knowledge of being in company. Either way, self-reliance appealed. Learning how to be alone appealed. However, she could hardly say that surrounded by friends at New Years. The group had made their way to a pub, not the one right at the beginning of her term at Oxford; it was far classier. Beer stained tables in need of a polish were replaced with fine mahogany surfaces, gleaming clean glasses frothing over with fine gold liquid. Kirigiri was reminded of the adverts. Apparently New Years was Sayaka’s, quote, “favourite time of the year like wow, god, there’s like fireworks and friends and also kissing under fireworks and alcohol and did I say fireworks like Christmas fireworks but… And concerts and… I love New Year’s”, so splashing out with the money was a super must. Apparently.

The firework display was meant to be better than Christmas. Kirigiri’s mind floated back as her gloved hands tightened around her pint, the light in her mind shimmering off of Celes’ silent beam, her usual poker face completely fallen through as she was placed in front of the glorious lights on the arm of another. Now that was a face someone could wake up to. An interrupting elbow broke her concentration. If this was going to become a recurring thing, people would die. Naegi’s hair flopped over his head as he tried to angle himself into her vacant line of view. She blinked, shook her head, smiled at him. Lanterns hung over their heads, illuminating the polished surface of the bar. The glowing yellow light caught the glass of the bottles with an array of warmth, cascading that warmth throughout the room. These people knew how to create an atmosphere. Kirigiri turned in her seat, her eyes raking the gathering of familiar and unknown faces. She alighted on Celes: black hair, tied up in a loose bun constructed with a pair of deep burgundy chopsticks, rather than the usual messy plait, a few, shorter strands curled by her pale neck. Kyouko Kirigiri did not stare. She definitely did not. 

Naegi’s eyes followed Kirigiri’s and he grinned. “She’s quite nice to look at, yeah.” Kirigiri’s neck snapped back around so fast Naegi was surprised it didn’t break. Kirigiri fumbled with the scarf hung decoratively around her neck, trying to pull it up above her mouth, hiding the solid grimace tightening her delicate lips. His smile weakened and he held out a hand grazing her shoulder. “Hey, I was only teasing.”

“I was not _staring_.” Kirigiri mumbled and Naegi knew her well enough to realise she was more asking herself a desperate question than replying to his statement. Naegi sighed, rubbing her arm, patting it gently before moving the hand back to his cider. Kirigiri’s fingers had gone back to worrying the end of her gloves for the umpteenth time that day, pinching and rolling the leather between forefinger and thumb, flicking the studs and yanking around her knuckles.

“No stress ball, huh?” Naegi asked softly, only loud enough for Kirigiri to just hear. He reached across and took one of the hands he knew to be ruined, grasping the attention of his dear friend. He stared earnestly at her, and was relieved she could still look in his eyes; sometimes she struggled with that. “It’s fine. Yeah?” Kirigiri whispered something about not knowing what he was talking about. Naegi rolled his eyes with an exasperated grin, “She’s cute. Really, she is. And you guys got really close in a short space of time.”

“We’re not really close.” Kirigiri answered, her eyes glancing away mournfully towards her drink.

“Well, to my mind you spent almost the entirety of November holed up in her room. She wouldn’t let just anyone do that. Yamada wouldn’t be allowed to do that and they used to be pretty tight.”

“She misses his company.” Kirigiri supplied. Naegi released her hand, waving his arms outwards, a huge physical statement of ‘there, see? You knew that and I did not!’ Laughter tugged at Kirigiri’s mouth at the dork-ish expression on Naegi’s beaming face. She pushed him lightly, turning back to her drink. Light hearted exteriors didn’t mean she’d escaped the pull of gravity shrouding her organs. The blood rushing around her body had slowed with her pulse: every breath had to be controlled or it simply would not happen. Naegi jostled her again.

“You know, you could say something to her.” A sharp jolt lurched Kirigiri’s insides. Her breathing quickened noticeably. “Oh shoot, uh…” Naegi had hoped that the past few months had been progression, had hoped that Kirigiri was accustomed to talking to people on a much more intimate level. He had hoped that with her improvements had come confidence. He had hoped. 

“I... I can’t, that’s not… No… I… I…” Kirigiri choked out in disbelief. Naegi grasped onto her again, seizing the shaking hands before they could seize themselves again. Naegi patted the ruined hands, caressing the soft leather, an airy chuckle escaping his throat. 

“Hey, hey now…” Kirigiri glanced over towards him, lilac eyes only reaching his throat, not close enough to his eyes. “Hey…” he murmured, “It’s cool. You don’t need to.” In the corner of the room hid the imperfections. A chair, hidden from sight with a missing leg, the polished wood scraped fiercely. Splinters caught and grasped traces of patron’s clothing. The plaster had crumbled from the wall, adjourned to its perfect counterpart by a singular cobweb. A feeble attempt had been made at covering the cream, perfect walls by a skewed dartboard, unused and alone. It gathered dust with its neighbours, unwanted. A torn poster was rolled, curled on top of a surface, and still not yet thrown out. These oddities went unnoticed by the majority of the pub, but for those unfortunate enough to have their eyes skirt over the sorry gathering’s pull was strong. The eye constantly flickered over the out of place, an uncomfortable feeling wedged in the gut, seeing so high class a place being even the smallest bit imperfect. The eye danced away quickly, ignoring in the desperate hope that they would not be the one to draw attention to it. A dart was suspended, its lethal edge stabbed into the chair.

 

-

 

Red eyes fluttered over to the lilac girl and the optimist, knowing those shaking hands for what they were, and the huddled girl for who she was. Celes looked away quickly from the embrace of the two, not being the one to call out to them, and certainly not being the line of sight for others to follow. The conversation had escaped her, wistful words about moving in and moving out, rearranging, New Year promises and other topics of less and more importance not quite holding her attention as the nervous wreck of a girl by the bar. Celes was relieved to see there was no drink in Kirigiri’s hands; no-one wanted to pay for a broken glass on New Year’s. She lost focus for a brief moment and the noise got to her. The yellow blurred with the yellow and the warmth of the friendly bodies around her was too much. Celes excused herself with a polite smile, taking her pint and a coat. She didn’t care whose coat, but if she’d given it time she would have realised purple wasn’t really a likely colour for her to pick with a red and black get-up. 

Neat kitten heels tapped against the filthy, sodden street and her breath gathered into a tangible cloud for red eyes to follow as it escaped. If Celes had been a smoking person, she would’ve lit one up and placed it between her plump, sharp lips, a huffing impatience accompanying her exhalations of invisible poisons. However she was not, so instead she took a human-sip of the warm gold in the bottle poised between forefinger and thumb. She liked her poisons to be visible. Someone behind her wolf-whistled. She turned sharply, an impatiently disgusted grimace on her face to see Junko, a wicked grin on her face. “Heey sweetheart, care to come home with me?” Celes rolled her eyes, grinning almost immediately. “Where are you going? It’s only about ten minutes until the fireworks.”

Celes only shrugged in response, her arms extending comically emphasising the gesture. “Hell if I know. It’s just too much in there.” Junko nodded slowly, a despondent half smile pulling against her beautiful features. It was hard to convince Celes when she was feeling like that, especially when she had a drink in hand. Junko turned, one foot raised to trudge back into the pub with a scarce wave thrown over her shoulder but a quick spin back towards Celes interrupted her course.

“That’s not your coat.” A quick, salmon blonde eyebrow cocked in amusement, “Hoping for some company?” Celes blinked, looking at the raised collar in confusion, the lilac tint to the wool catching her eyes.

“Ah, that wasn’t planned.” Her voice soft with honest confusion. “I guess I wouldn’t mind some company?” she answered Junko, a resigned embarrassment painting her cheeks faintly red. Junko laughed sharply, a piercing cackle almost immediately slowing to a genuine chuckle.

“Oh my god.” She laughed, “You mean you wouldn’t mind _her_ company! You are so fucking hopeless, oh my days.”

“I have no clue whatsoever as to what you are referring to Miss Enoshima. Why don’t you just go cuddle up in your sister’s bed or something equally as hot?” Celes shot back, a sharp, entertained smile baring her white set of teeth.

“Are you shitting me, Taeko? Your crush on her is almost as big as your raging boner for that pert little butt!”

“Oh fuck off, you ditzy bitch! Go steal Naegi’s lunch money instead of outing your friends in the street!” Junko blew a kiss Celes only just caught, still chuckling, a hand grasping her side. Celes laughed, walking off towards the lit park with a wave. Now to go and wait for some company.

 

-

 

Kirigiri clutched her drink as if it were the drink of life. To be honest, she would do better with a shot of nerves of steel. Or maybe the fruity cocktail of self-confidence. The refined red wine of sexual confidence? The drinks menu in front of her was too colourful. It wasn’t that her tolerance level was considered below the alcoholic poverty line; more that tipsy lasted a very long, hard and fast time. 

“Like… it would help if she weren’t so attractive? I’m sure we could easily just be friends or something if she just stopped with the cute.” Naegi said, shaking his hands in mild frustration in the direction of his own copy of the menu. It was all very well ordering off by heart, or being the proper pub crawling professional, but even regulars ended up too drunk to remember what the stubby things on end of their arms were. Naegi’s tolerance levels were shot to pieces and it wasn’t that there were issues with Sayaka, oh lord no, no don’t say that she’s just so kind and amazing and pretty and talented and wow just how he could listen to her forever like, wow wasn’t he lucky. No, it wasn’t that at all, Kirigiri, stop misunderstanding, it was just sometimes he didn’t want to be in a relationship anymore and? His lowered lip wobbled, his expression taking on that puppy-innocence; a puppy which had just been kicked down the stairs. “I just can’t explain it…” Naegi groaned, voice catching against his vocal chords, turning his words to a whisper. He leant his head on Kirigiri’s shoulder. “I don’t get what’s wrong with me. Sayaka is the most wonderful person I know, but I just don’t want to be with her like that anymore. Like, I do want to be with her like that, but I also just don’t know?”

Kirigiri looked at the frenzied, uncertain eyes and remembered again just what Naegi got out of their friendship. Maybe she was a handful and maybe she did have her own issues, but so did Naegi. It was in moments like these when she was relied on that she remembered she was in fact needed; that didn’t mean she felt any better for it though. ‘On the contrary’, she thought as it was her turn to grasp her friend’s shoulders, ‘I shouldn’t relish these moments at all.’

“Naegi… I know you feel like this and it’s hard. It’s weird. But… the last few times you ended something for the sake of ending it… Things didn’t go well.” Naegi looked towards her, drinking in the words pouring from her lips. Despite what she thought, Kirigiri did know things. “I think… Just wait, okay? Don’t rush in. This has kind of come up out of nowhere. Just give it some time, hang out with Leon more or something. You guys are close. Or me, but I don’t really go anywhere.” Kirigiri stood with Naegi’s eyes on her, “Just wait and see if the feeling continues. Sayaka’s going to show up soon, so how about you talk to her about it when she arrives? It would be better than springing it up out of nowhere on her as well.” Her eyes left his, raking across the room, brow furrowed. “I need to find my coat. It has my bloody phone and keys and…” she huffed. Lids closed, she turned back to Naegi, quickly rubbing her chin, gloves pressed to her lips. Bending down, she hugged him and he hugged her, familiar bodies which had aged together holding on tightly.

“You should talk to Celes. Sort yourself out as well.” Naegi whispered past the white hair to the slightly sticky-out ear. “You guys are good for each other.” he smiled, releasing her. She tucked a plaited lock of hair behind her ear, trying to ignore the increased pounding of her bloodied organ. She nodded once, a smile hidden as she bent her neck, chin tucked behind her scarf. By the ruby tinge rimming the edge of the material, Naegi realised it was Celes’ scarf.

Kirigiri of course had no intention of speaking to Celes about anything bordering anywhere near feelings. In fact, the very thought had an increasing sense of nausea looming over her, broiling up on the inside and clawing against her stomach walls. Her knees shook as she walk. The fear of rejection was too strong. No, what she intended to do when she’d found her coat was enjoy New Years with her friends. With all of her friends who were exclusively friends with no romantic attachment to any of them because boy wouldn’t that be a nice change. Kirigiri approached Oowada and Ishimaru who were both talking loudly, sloshing their pints over each other’s hands each time they knocked glasses or smacked each other on the back that bit too hard. Chihiro was squashed between the two, a bright green cocktail in his hand, laughing and beaming with the both of them.

“…It’ll be great! We can move my bed in or something and squish them together and we can all kind of spoon every night.” Oowada was half shouting, his eyes crinkled up by his beaming grin. “Ishi can cook for us! I’ll do the house work!” Chihiro’s thin arm had snaked around his waist, thumb fiddling with his belt loop as the larger guy swayed back and forth with mirth. “And Chihiro, little brother, can keep us going through the day with your angelic face!” Ishimaru’s gleaming laugh held the other two close as his hand free of drink found its way to Chihiro’s hair, fiddling with the curled-up ends. Chihiro giggled, resting his weight against Oowada’s firm torso.

“But seriously guys…” he said quietly, immediately drawing the attention for the other two as Kirigiri approached, looking for her coat. “What if we did… move in? Like seriously? If we all, after uni, if we all got a place together. With your part time jobs and my programming deals, we could… We could do it.” The other two settled at the soft words, fiery passion taken over by the brighter shine of anticipation, joy, nerves… Could they do it? With the three of them, certainly. Money wasn’t an issue and, surprising for undergrad students. On the contrary; they’d been waiting for this.

“We could look at housing deals in the morning.” Ishimaru mumbled, his throat running dry in anticipation. “And I know a good refurbishing company we could contact… My uncle and cousins… run it… I helped them out when I was younger… painting… decorating… houses...” his tangent pattering out of fuel as inside his mind was crowing with joy. He had waited so long… The very thought of waking up with the both of them was glorious enough, and now it could be _every day_. He would never be bored of it; Oowada’s strong arms wrapped around Chihiro’s frail frame, their legs all entangled together, their proximity doing better than any blanket could. It would be so glorious… with the morning light gleaming from their bedstead, catching oh so perfectly off of their arranged belongings, Oowada’s coat flung atop the chair, messing up Ishimaru’s uniform in the way he disliked so much. But every time he let it slide because of that little thrill he got, seeing their clothes, their possessions towered together and it could be an everyday occurrence.

Kirigiri wished she hadn’t heard a word. Of course her heart was soaring at the unbeatable expression of pure happiness on Chihiro’s face at the positive reaction of his beloved others, but… She didn’t want to think about relationship stuff. Now her mind had jumped to waking up every morning with Celes’, no, Taeko’s face mere inches from her own. She could see the light freckling, that adorably grumpy morning face she pulled when the day beckoned her from sleep. Oh and maybe, just maybe, if Kirigiri looked down, there was Taeko’s collar bone, her naked chest, hidden by an artfully draped sheet. The curve of her, the shape of her beckoned Kirigiri further; Celes’ naked warmth would be pressed against Kirigiri’s own and Kirigiri would descend and-

“Hey, Kirigiri, you okay?” Oowada asked as the ends of Kirigiri’s ears burned bright red. She made a choking noise, raised a thumb.

“H-have you guys seen my coat?” she questioned rapidly, her words jumbling slightly in her flailing attempt to change the subject from moving house, relationships, hypothetical morning sex, anything to do with grinding. Ishimaru swept around dramatically, his head snapping right, left, right again with a serious blazing frown on his face. Chihiro peeped around him to the chair he was leaning against.

“I am sorry to say Ms Kyouko that I have not seen your coat since you left it on this chair.” Ishimaru reported solemnly, a grave look on his face.

“Ah… Celes was with us earlier…” Chihiro supplied thoughtfully. “She wanted to step outside; she may have picked up your coat by mistake. I’m sure you’ll find her if you ask around.” Kirigiri thanked them stiffly, smiling distractedly when Oowada patted her shoulder firmly. Someone said something about her asking Celes an equally vague other something along the lines of dating but Kirigiri stubbornly ignored them, her pace increasing as she briskly walked towards the door of the pub. Outside, she found the others, preparing for the fireworks. Sayaka was rushing towards them from down the street, her hands up and finding Kirigiri’s as she bounced up next to her.

“Hi, KG.” she greeted breathlessly, her cheeks a lively red from her light jog. Kirigiri started at Naegi's nickname for her and smiled awkwardly, finding it not quite right in anyone else's voice, “Got the camera now! Can’t believe I forgot it, you know?” her giggle faltered when she noticed Kirigiri’s distracted nature. “Lost something?”

“Ah, only my coat. I’m fine without it, but I’d just like to know where it is for…” her hand tightened around one of Sayaka’s, absent-mindedly kneading her fingers the way one would when holding a stress ball, “Just for my state of mind.” Someone grabbed her hips from behind, a taller person leaning on her with arms wrapping around her waist. Salmon pink hair found its way into Kirigiri’s line of vision.

“Celes took off with your coat. Said it was an accident, but she’s in the park if you want to get it back.” Junko supplied, her breath warm against Kirigiri’s cheek. Sayaka smiled, greeted her, asked her how her night was going so far to which Junko replied and Kirigiri ignored the idle chitchat, her ears burning at the part-time model’s impressive bust pressing firmly but so softly against her shoulder blades. It didn’t take too long for Sayaka to observe Kirigiri’s discomfort and Junko’s embrace was soon levered. Kirigiri couldn't say for sure if that was entirely a good thing.

“Oh, I was going to talk to Naegi.” Maizono commented, tutting at her own forgetfulness as she rummaged in her handbag after patting down the large pockets of her knee-length wool coat. “I have…” she pulled out a finely wrapped box, not too small wrapped in white with a rose-patterned ribbon, “a New Year’s gift for him!” Kirigiri eyed the small, say ring-sized box, a wave of guilt washing over her as she imagined Celes’ face when she was presented with her own box. Sayaka caught on, immediately waving a hand quickly, shaking her head with a humorous urgency, “Oh no, it’s nothing like that. That’s the joke. It’s just one of the original Zelda games; I have the box and everything at home. I just thought… well, it was the first thing Naegi leant me to play and I thought… Collector’s special? Reminiscing? Good times? That kind of thing.” She sighed happily, tucking black-blue hair behind an ear. “I just want to make him happy.” Kyouko Kirigiri could not take too much more of it.

“He’ll like it. I’m sure.” Kirigiri mumbled, turning. “I’m sorry, I’ve got a coat to find.”

“Hurry back! The fireworks will start very soon!” Junko trilled with excitement. Kirigiri raised a hand in acknowledgement then quickly shoved it in her trouser pocket, searching for her phone. No joy, of course; it was in her coat. This could’ve been solved with a quick call but no.

The street she walked down was lit with gold against the night’s black. The trees from the park loomed over the gates, the light of the lamps inside the park dancing off the one or two remaining leaves, sending the sprawling hands of the branches along the street in twisting shadows. Kirigiri’s reflection rippled in the puddles lining the streets, wavering and flickering much like her mind was between the practical and the wonderful fancy. A couple was stood by one of the more ornate lampposts by the entrance to the park, stood close together. The taller of the two was bending down, their faces touching as their lips met when the clock began to chime. Midnight. Happy New Year. As Kirigiri drew up to the black gate, she realised the couple was Sakura and Asahina, speaking in low voices, grinning from ear to ear, holding each other close for warmth, for comfort and most of all for love. They didn’t see or acknowledge Kirigiri as she strode faster into the park, her face now burning. Cobbled streets became smooth path, littered with broken twigs. Few people were stood around as the first fireworks bloomed overhead and oh how she ached for that kiss when the clock struck the hours away.

As the explosions echoed and chilled, thrilled, coursed through Kirigiri as she loved them to do, she found herself to have done a desperate, stupid thing. It was unlikely she’d find Celes tonight; she should’ve waited for the morning to find her coat, should’ve stayed with the others, with the group like she said she would. She should’ve stayed back and enjoyed the company and the fireworks, rather than traipse alone and lovelorn past couples, groups of friends, people who were with any one else, any other: people who were not alone. As the fireworks lit her path, reverberating in her core Kirigiri knew she had acted out of desperation to spend the fireworks with Taeko again. For all the time she’d spent pushing the memories from her mind, from her heart, the light gleaming on Taeko’s face, igniting her eyes and her soul, filling her with that same wonder it filled Kirigiri, she knew she’d wanted to see it again. She wanted to experience the fireworks again as they vibrated through her legs to the ground, pounded against her insides, and she wanted to see them with Taeko. And not just for New Years. For the next year and the year after that. She needed to see that joy, that wonder in the stoic, otherwise grumpy and ill-mannered but oh so polite girl.

The fireworks thrilled her like the pounding of her heart did. When she saw Celes, the fireworks ignited again and they flew and soared up on into the starless sky just like the very first time the lights had brightened her sky, when her father had first taken her. She'd been so young, riding his shoulders with ease, little knitted mittens attached to the end of her sleeves, swinging and patting against her dad's ecstatic face. He'd been so young then as well, so carefree. His world hadn't hardened into the brutal sphere which eventually crushed him. 

“Oi, Kyouko.” A voice called. A darling voice with a tinge of euphoria. Kirigiri turned and there she was, sat on a bench without a drink in hand. Taeko patted the seat beside her, smiling. “I took your coat, didn’t I?” she asked as Kirigiri sat down next to her. The lilac girl only shrugged, appearing to be offhanded about the whole thing. Oh, she just casually wandered into the park, you know, no biggy, and oh wow there’s her coat on a girl she’d recently shared a bed with for a month, what a coincidence.

“I was wondering where it had gone.” Kirigiri said, not quite looking at Taeko, her delicate chin tilted upwards to watch the lights. Taeko snorted, jostling her.

“Yeah, of course. You just happened to find your coat sitting in the park, no you weren’t looking for it. What’s today? New Years was it? Oh no, I just left all of my friends in a pub for a pleasant stroll, you know, as one does.” It seemed to have worked; Kirigiri looked at her with an amusement burning brighter than the lights above, and only just brighter than the shade of embarrassment now tinting her ears pink.

“You’re awfully chipper.”

“Well yeah, it’s New Years! I’m sat here with enough alcohol in my system to kill a cow, I’m warm, comfy, no creep has tried to hit on me this year and there’s good company.” Kirigiri made a mockery of her by looking around. “Okay, maybe not good company. Maybe just company with a nice butt.”

“A nice butt?”

“Okay, an amazing butt.” Kirigiri laughed in disbelief, quick to settle down, leaning against the shorter girl with shoulders and heads resting together. Taeko exhaled, definitely not performing a small celebratory fist-pump. Above them and around them the fireworks reverberated through them. The local club which tended to use areas of the park sectioned off to the general public always went full out with this. On bonfire night, there had been so many people gathered outside the park, throwing proper mini street parties with food and booze, kids running up and down the pavement with glee. Sparklers had been passed around and the crowd whooped joyously at every blast through their bodies to the ground, the shake, the plummet electrifying. Enjoyable terror pumped adrenaline through them only a month ago as it did the smaller crowd now. Most people went home or elsewhere for New Years, but there was still a reasonable crowd more towards the centre of the park. The streets weren’t over-spilling but empty. The silence was as exhilarating as the reverberations in the earth.

Taeko's hand had snuck into Kirigiri’s, giving the frail limb a squeeze as adrenaline flooded her body in response to the fireworks. A shiver ran down and through and up Kirigiri as she gazed in wonderment heavenwards. “If you’re that cold, you can have your coat back.” Taeko teased, watching the girl with her own firework show of ecstasy in her accelerated pulse, her racing heart. Kirigiri turned to her slowly, a small smile on her face. Kyouko felt submissive to her fate all of a sudden, a hollow, plummeting resignation resounding deep within. She leaned forward, gloved fingers finding Taeko's chin, tilting her perfect mouth to just the right angle.

She could see the girl’s freckles, could see the thicker areas of mascara over her deep burgundy eyes, still hiding that richer chocolate-hazel she’d known. She watched the pupils widen, Taeko's chest rise in that uphill struggle to attain that breath she needed, that Kirigiri’s proximity was holding from her. “Fuck my coat.” She whispered against Taeko's lips, and the fireworks soared and climbed and were inside of the two of them as lips slid against lips, and Taeko’s daring nature took over when her tongue tested the full rim of Kirigiri’s own, slightly cracked mouth. Broken hands held ruined, and the past glowed in Taeko's heart, but for now it could not burn nearly as hard, nor as brightly as the eruption of light and colour that was Kirigiri which flooded her. Nothing mattered but the girl, no matter how broken, in her own imperfect hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> getting steamy up here for about all the ships especially the gay detective gamblers
> 
>  **Fun facts:**  
>  \- I do have a friend who keeps weed in a glasses case in his house  
> \- I do have a friend who will be in a relationship for like a year and then will just want to end it because she feels restricted al of a sudden.
> 
>  
> 
> oh my goodness that took too long. im not sure how many of you guys know about my tumblr, hummustier.tumblr.com, but i posted on there recently i'll be taking my time with this for health reasons and also because i do have school work.  
> i have literally ski-read through this chapter and am posting it as i've finished it (ie right now for me) so there may be typos or ridiculous grammatical errors, so please drop me a message here or on my tumblr. and tell me what you think! there is still a whole lot of uphill. a whole lot. my brain is shrivelling at the thought. oh god.
> 
>  **COMMENT PLEASE I LOVE YOUR FEEDBACK AND SUPPORT IT IS GR9 AND I JUST LOVE HEARING FROM YOU LOT!** just wait until i start rippin you apart *chuckles*


	7. Truth?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _I know you have felt much more love than you’ve shown_  
>  And I’m on my knees and the water creeps to my chest  
> And I will hold on, I will hold on  
> Thistle & Weeds  
> Mumford & Sons

Warm whispers, attention so heavenly diverted from the cacophonous uproar in the lights above. “Taeko” spoken in a warm hush against those receptive lips, for once happy to accept the name with much grander things at the forefront of her mind. As the park grew colder, the two grew warmer, hand rested against stomach, pressed against shoulder. A coat was shared between the two.

The fireworks eventually ended and there hadn’t been much said. This was mainly due to the fact Celes had fallen asleep against Kirigiri’s shoulder quite promptly. After what had just transpired, it would be expected for Kirigiri to feel elation, her heart soaring higher and brighter and harder than the fireworks above. And of course this was what she felt, her gloves brushing the rim of her lips, curled upwards. Worry pooled in her gut, weighing her down as she hoisted Celes’ light, barely present frame in her arms for the walk home. She tottered from the bench, finding her footing on the slick floor. The lights seemed brighter; her vision was swimming, a thud filling her body when Celes’ head lolled closer to her chest. Kirigiri couldn’t tell whether the girl was asleep or unconscious and the thought worried her to no end. Her feet diverged from the path that would take her along by the pub, twisting her down a round-about way to the Lounge.

Setting Celes down in the apartment hallway, yellowing light hazing her eyesight worse than before, Kirigiri rifled through the girl’s bag methodically, finding keys in no time; the thought had never struck her that maybe it would be easier to take Celes back to Kirigiri’s own lodgings, back to Naegi, Sayaka, warm light, after-party drinks, New Year’s Eve continuing until the sunshine of New Year’s Day flooded the kitchen. Celes could’ve maybe slept on the sofa, or maybe in Kirigiri’s bed –she was too hyped to sleep. Kirigiri would greet her, maybe with a smile on her face, a cup of tea ready in her hands… maybe even a small kiss on the forehead, because why not? But as earlier stated, when Kirigiri had been walking from that park, gambler in arms, kiss on her lips, she had been walking _home_.

 

\--

 

Celestia Ludenberg woke. She didn’t quite sit up, drawing knees to chest, a crisp warmth deep in the foundation of her body. She remembered climbing into bed, but nothing before that. She remembered a park and knew there was importance. She remembered a kiss and that got her to sit upright. Her eyes darted to the other side of her bed to find she was alone. One hand found her cheek, rubbing it, rubbing the feeling back into it. She shivered, dived from the sheets for a hoodie, cursing beneath her breath. If there really had been anything, she wouldn’t dig to discover the secrets without food/alcohol in her system. She slipped her feet into a pair of socks which definitely needed a wash, stepped out of her room, itching an itch at the back of her scalp. She yawned, failing to hide it with the back of her wrist as she would usually, and Celes walked in on the peaceful scene of Kirigiri in her morning glory splayed across the sofa with a ton of blankets covering her in as elegant a way as one caught in mid-yawn could manage. Which, seeing as it was the morning, was not very. Her mouth snapped shut around the yawn, eyes wide. Uncovered chocolate-brown flickered towards those lips, parted ever so slightly, small breaths accompanying the rise and fall of Kyouko’s chest. “Ah…” Celes uttered the soft sound with an understanding look on her face. Her eyes darted along every inch of skin of the girl she could see, tracing her frame as well as she could past the blankets. Of course she remembered a kiss, “That would be it.” She confirmed for herself with a quiet nod, speedily manoeuvring past the sofa on her way to the kitchen.

“I didn’t know you spoke to yourself…” Kirigiri’s soft voice breathed. Celes darted back around, staring as the girl slowly shifted, the morning weight of the white head causing her spine to curl, sluggish movements, slow dopiness edging Kirigiri to smile with a squint against the morning light. “Did you sleep well?” she asked, her voice hoarse, unused. She cleared her throat, repeated the question, still with that unrelenting smile. Celes informed her she’d slept like a log and enquired in return to discover that yes, actually, her sofa was quite comfortable. Kirigiri sidled her legs around, feet placed on the floor. Celes was delighted to see she was wearing only a long-sleeved top and panties. Kirigiri found her gloves, pulled them over her hands, frowning as she curled her fingers to form a fist. Celes watched her, intrigued, pretending she hadn’t been caught staring when Kirigiri’s expression turned apologetic. “I was planning on waking you with breakfast or something.”

Celes flicked her wrist dismissively, “If you’d woken me up, I’d have murdered you.”

“Fair enough.” Kirigiri mumbled, standing, walking now towards the kitchen. “Tea?”

Celes’ eyes followed the tops of her bare legs before remembering to reply. She needed to talk to the girl anyway, “I’ll show you how.”

“I know how.”

“I’d also like to talk to you, if that’s…”

“It’s okay with me.” Kirigiri chuckled before the coded question could be added onto the end, for once not distraught that Celes hadn’t invaded her personal space to ask her. The kettle was rattling, steam roiling upwards before Celes began to speak. Kirigiri wasn’t sure what to expect from the girl; she’d learnt never to boast on her hand before the game was over. Celes had revelled in making the boaster the fool when it happened, chiding them in their playing skills and manners as she collected the bets with her smart fingers.

“So. From what I recall, we kissed. Once, in the park with the fireworks.”

“Does it count as only once?” Kirigiri teased, voice light and easy as she rifled through the cupboard just to her left through boxes upon boxes of tea bags and coffee for the Earl Grey. “It lasted for quite some time. We had to stop to breathe on numerous occasions.” She could almost hear Celes’ eyes rolling in her skull.

“Fine, okay, overcomplicate this with the details, detective, wow. I just wanted to know if… anything else happened when we got back…” her voice remained firm, a hard gaze fixated on Kirigiri’s back.

“Nothing else happened. You fell asleep at some point so I carried you back. You’d woken up by then and sorted yourself out.” Kirigiri shrugged. Celes wondered if the eyes had a sad, maybe a frustrated glint in them. She’d been there at the lilac girl’s mercy; maybe Kirigiri was regretting her choice of chivalry. When a mug was proffered to her, her lips moved in perplexity at the calm, contented beam in the lilac girl’s eyes. Kirigiri sipped her steaming brew, eyes cast downwards before fluttering up, her lips leaving the liquid with a ripple. “I also have a question.”

“Hm?” This would be interesting. Kirigiri inhaled, exhaled, steadied herself with one glove against the counter behind her. She was quiet, lids over eyes, brow scrunched and Celes was patient as she witnessed the lilac girl force herself out of her comfort zone.

“Where…” Kirigiri cleared her throat, “Where does this leave us now? What… are we anything, now? Like…” Celes could see the hands itching to entwine, the fingers dying to knot together. “I might have… a bit more than friendship I guess, but I don’t really… know you, I don’t think, but I…” Celes paced forward, tea skidding along the table top behind her, splashing along the surface as she crushed her mouth against the lilac girl’s. Kirigiri gasped, sighed, melted into her again and Celes found the lips she’d discovered last night. The lilac girl’s breath was hot against her face, the shakiness of the girl felt through her arms as she held her. Celes hoped the girl wouldn’t ask about a relationship. She hoped there would be no mention of love. As she helped Kirigiri onto the counter, she sneered at romance, at love, the emotion Kirigiri had been grasping at with gloved, de-sensitised fingers.

Her fingers ran up Kirigiri’s thighs, rubbing hard, massaging the skin with a force which may have been passion - was certainly passion with a poker face. She scorned the reliance on another and knew Kirigiri was wrapped so tightly around her little finger that the lilac girl would not run. Red marks clawed their way down the pale skin of Kirigiri’s legs, her arms wrapped, resting on Celes’ shoulders. Celes’ teeth bruised their way from Kirigiri’s jaw to her neck: hard bites, deep sucks welting the perfect skin with red and blue ferocity. Her fingers curled around the girl, around her waist, pulling her into another vicious, unsympathetic kiss. She wondered how the lilac girl was still putting up with this, this blatant disregard of her ‘yes’ and her ‘no’. She wondered how the girl could find it within herself to be reacting with an equally passionate fire.

When Kirigiri panted for air, a string of saliva linking their lips, Celes rammed on ahead. Her nails raked up and down, underneath the material and above the skin, marking the girl with a burning red, wondering if she’d get away with drawing blood. Her fingers danced and dug into flesh, tracing lines, pulling, moulding flesh so close to the bone. She pushed her fingers into the skin, mapping the bumps of the rib cage, hearing that sharp hiss of breath as her nails punctured the skin.

Celes’ hands began racing, tearing up the pale frame. Her fingers toyed with erect nipples, scratching along the soft mounds, grasping them roughly, firmly pushing them, toying to her own ends. Moans mixed with gasps in Kirigiri’s mouth, pleasure and pain rivalling for her attention, paralysing her in all responses but to claw Celes closer to her shuddering frame. Soon Celestia Ludenberg was plunging, ramming into Kyouko up to her fingers’ joint, hearing the gasping breaths of the girl clutching onto her so desperately. Her other hand pressed into the back of Kirigiri’s spine, forcing her thrusts to be more directed, the lilac girl grinding on the white hand. 

Celes’ thumb worked against the hard nub of the lilac girl’s clit, snarling at the fabric of the panties in the way of her hand. Her mouth found the bruising neck again, kissing it hard, teeth nibbling, biting, nipping, grinding against the flesh. She could feel the warmth growing and the lilac girl’s gasps became harder to hear in her own ears as reds and golds and like platinum stars filled Kyouko’s eyes, one glove flying to the black counter top, the other bunching in Celes' hair as she came hard and fast into the curled, still pumping hand. Celes continued through the quaking girl, working her up, with her hand massaging the curve of her butt, the other still thumping away with a slick violence. The air escaped Kirigiri’s grasp, her recovery’s absence forcing the labour of her rising chest all that much more. Snarled curses and cruel oaths fell from Celestia’s lips, pouring in Kyouko’s ears and a feeble moan could be her only response as teeth tugged hard against her ear. Soon the stars flashed again, Celes' hands forcing a smaller, feebler burst to jerk Kirigiri’s hips, rocking with a starry moan dying in her throat. Her breath sucked in sharply, shuddering as Celes finally withdrew, sucking on her fingers, right to the knuckle, a cold stare in her chocolate-hazel eyes.

 

“This is how it will be.” Celes whispered, walking out of the room with her sodden knuckles still pressed to her lips, her tongue cleaning up the lilac girl’s mess. Kirigiri’s head leant against the cabinet behind her. The salt-water which left her eyes stung as it rolled down the battered neck and she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. For there she was, her body tiptoeing away from the brink of ecstasy, her lips battered and tattered with her loved one’s teeth and her heart was falling to pieces on the floor beneath her. She laughed through her tears, holding her head to sob quietly; after all, it was both a little funny and a little sad.

 

Time passed; the day moved on and Celes re-entered, clothed and ready. Kirigiri had hobbled down from the counter and was sat, silent, at the breakfast bar. She’d retrieved her underwear with a grave solemnity which was so detestably in place. Celes snatched an apple from the side, rubbing it absent-mindedly against her jacket. Her lips brushed Kirigiri’s, fingers tracing along the bruising neck, pressing with an absent-minded rage to hear the pained breath. “I have a lecture. You know where everything is. The key included.” The door shut. Boots could be heard down the hallway.

Kirigiri picked herself up, the sun pulling her to her feet, the moon still firmly tugging at her gut, that sunken wretched feeling holding her so fiercely she couldn’t shake it. Her feet stumbled, her legs shook. Her joyous melancholy remained steadfast when she crawled into the white sheets of Celes’ bed. As her knees raised to her chest, hands tucked up by her head, she could feel the rapture of Celes’ touch. Yet more prominent than before she could feel the wrath, that hidden hatred which propelled the loving to be enacted so casually. Celestia Ludenberg had removed all feeling from their intimacy, but still, stubbornly the intimacy remained. Caught in the cross fire of her anguish and her delight, Kirigiri knew only one thing; Taeko Yasuhiro had been absent from her own head since the end of November. The girl Kirigiri loved was hiding behind a deceitful duplicate and Kirigiri needed to find her before her determination was broken by those white, delicate hands which had torn her up so cruelly.

Hours later, Kirigiri realised she wasn’t coming back, only she realised in that sort of way when one already knew the truth but was just firmly denying it. Knowing Celes’ timetable almost as well as her own - Kirigiri had a mind for these sorts of things - she knew Celes did have a lecture, but it wasn’t prone to last for three hours. Kirigiri picked herself up, threw off her clothes and dumped herself down in the shower, powering the water on as hard as she could make it. She immediately had to gentle the flow, due to the hammering bullets of water thudding into the now fully flourished bruises all along the sides of her neck, on one corner of her jaw, along her collar bone, decorating the beginning of her shoulders with a yellow-purple anger. The deepest of the bruise lined her in neat sets of teeth, linking together, and she wondered if it would be worth putting some disinfectant over every inch of her neck, just to be safe.

 

Kirigiri soon left, coat collar buttoned right up, a scarf wrapped tightly around her throat. She’d seen all of Naegi’s texts and quickly replied to the panic with few, reassuring words. Her friend had figured she would’ve been at Celes’ place anyway. The thought was amusing in a heart-breaking sort of way. The moment she stepped back into her own house, removing scarf and coat with a habitual ease, she realised as Sayaka bounced down the stairs that she probably should’ve kept it in mind to keep the scarf on. Sayaka’s eyes alighted on the dark splotches and turned an odd sort of red in the face; Kirigiri had expected her to squeal and pull her into the kitchen so as to tell her everything, simply everything, that had happened. Instead the girl tottered forward and didn’t seem to realise she was tracing the vivid bruises with a hand until she reached the battered jaw. “Uh... wow.” The hand twitched away, a flash of fear on Sayaka's face.

Kirigiri coughed awkwardly. “Yeah….” Nothing else was coming to mind; the bruises didn’t exactly make her think of happy things, “Yeah.” Oceanic sadness rippled in Sayaka’s eyes, a melancholy smile on her lips. She’d seen Celes with partners before. She’d seen Celes leashing people to her side with owning marks, scratching her name into their skin. Sayaka had been one of them, once, after all. Some time ago. She picked Kirigiri’s scarf up – which she knew to be Celes’ scarf – from the banister and the material’s weight settled over the indigo splotches. Her thumb found the bruises on Kirigiri’s jaw again.

“She likes to do that.” She whispered hoarsely, her eyes fixated on the jaw. She’d spent long hours staring in the mirror, her own bruises decorating that same side of her jaw, back in the day. “You… You can’t exactly hide it.” She removed her hand, absent-mindedly stroking the same spot on her own smooth jaw. With horrified eyes, the kind of horrified one would wear as if one was stabbed in the stomach, she took hold of Kirigiri’s gloved hand, dragging her upstairs. “Tea?”

Kirigiri looked at the hand holding hers so delicately, directing her when she needed someone to lead her. Sayaka had been on the receiving end of what Celes had enacted only a few hours ago. Reflecting on the usually cheery girl, with her brightest of smiles always worn, her optimism commandeering her past pessimism with ease, Kirigiri found someone who knew what to be broken was. Maybe her love for Celes had eventually run out. Maybe there had never been love. No matter what the case had been, Kirigiri promised herself that she wouldn’t give up on Celes at any time. She would find Taeko and drag her to the surface, even if it meant it cost her the intimacy she’d longed for.

She recalled the offer of tea, “… Yeah.”

 

-a matter of weeks-

 

In one of their more delicate moments, Celes had edged into Kirigiri’s arms as she rested on a sofa. Around them were bottles from the last Lounge gathering, the others having left hours ago. Kirigiri had been commanded to the bedroom, not being a welcome member of the Ludenberg Lounge, waiting out the night with only Celes’ belongings (and access to the en suite). When the music had ebbed to a quiet glow and the sounds of her friends had become absent to silence, the bedroom door had been opened, a permit of exit. Kirigiri had left with a wildness, like a cat chancing its escape from the fox, only to find Celes stood waiting for her, a cup of tea proffered in one hand and another raised for contact. Kirigiri never knew why she accepted the girl’s arms around her body, keeping her involuntarily flinches to as minimum as possible. She’d settled on the sofa, sick of the bedroom and Celes had joined her, pulling the slightly longer arms around her for maybe comfort. After all, she was the commander of the harsher side of their interactions and maybe -just maybe- Taeko was wordlessly forcing Celes to broach for forgiveness. Of course Kirigiri knew it wouldn’t feel like that if she did eventually follow Celestia’s arms to the bedroom, or if the girl started grinding on her right then, being the little spoon and all. However nothing happened and they remained quiet. Whoever’s laptop it was turned to a playlist of a more classical construct, the room filling with the silken movements of bow on string, the golden strength of the brass, an accompanied piano, the refined woodwind, delicately powerful percussion. Kirigiri lost herself for a moment in the cleverly placed surround sound of the Lounge, immersing herself directly within the confines of the rich piece, the talent sewn orchestra, the tools of the composer sat behind their aged table, scratching scores on paper. She felt hands fiddling with her gloves and managed to see a sliver of white resting on crinkled, ageing black-brown. “What are you doing?” she asked, never a quiver of hesitation in her voice.

“Fiddling with your gloves.” Was the stoic answer. Celes hadn’t had enough to drink.

“Why?” shoulders shrugged, ridiculous given the physical proximity, jerking Kirigiri’s own.

“I want to see your hands.” Celes began tugging at the middle finger, pinching the material and yanking up, sliding the sheath from the sword. Scars entwined, coursed up and down feeble, breaking skin which clung to the bones. Veins rested above and beneath the bone, vulgar in sight. A smoky hint of grey-blue was etched in the skin, the redness of any meat absent to heat up the chilled colour. The blackened tips of fingers seemed brittle, more delicate than a flower in a hurricane. Celes took the hand and held it up to her face for a better look. Soft hands traced the leather one, light touches circling the course of pink-grey scars. Kirigiri sighed deeply, feeling the touches through a cloud of burnt nerve endings. Soft lips brushed the tip of each grotesque finger. “How did it happen?”

“I’ve told you about my father.” Kirigiri said, a monotonous factuality taking over her voice. Celes didn’t move to confirm it; Kirigiri wasn’t asking a question. Instead, she continued to play with the hand, sliding hers into it in one of the rare moments she was allowed to feel the burnt out warmth of it. For all Celestia Ludenberg owned Kirigiri’s body - accounted for by scratch marks and bruises Kirigiri had gotten used to remarks directed towards - Celes knew she’d always need permission for the hands. “Well, you know the motive but I guess I’ve never told you how it happened.” She sighed and found her mind flitting back too easily to the moment she’d been in the middle of blazing red.

 

For whatever reason, when the house had gone up, and she’d found the stairs blocked in a cruel form of readiness, one guerilla had remained upstairs. Kyouko didn’t notice the solid man, towering what felt like miles above her, until she ran into him screaming, tears running down her young face as the air struggled to enter her lungs, combating the smoke. Something had fallen across the door to her bedroom, already hindering her escape, but she’d pushed and shoved with her small shoulders until it had flung wide, the brittle plank or whatever breaking more due to the fire licking away at it than her feeble strength. She hadn’t stayed around to see what it had been. 

Tear glazed eyes widened in the face of such well known surroundings distorted, broken by flame. There was the commissioned portrait of her great grandmother, the canvas coiling as the paint cracked and crackled. That vase her uncle had imported as a gift had been slaughtered by an aflame beam. Broken glass form family portraits littered the floor and she stepped with blind care, trying to remain calm with a wobbling lower lip. Then she saw him, hulking down the hallway. It was as if the flames weren’t touching him. A beast of a man with blood on his hands running up his tailored sleeves, slightly crispy at the ends, smoke curling in a neat wisp to join its comrades and choke out the oxygen. He was walking from her parents’ room.

If there had been surprise at seeing a young girl, maybe six or seven, stood in the hallway before him, the demonic grin didn’t show it. His steady pace became a frightening lurch, flaming sleeves held out and snatching the girl in a second. Kirigiri had screamed, letting the air peal from her lungs. The smoke choked it to a cough in no second, but the brief screech had caused deep lines of irritation to form in the man’s brow. The reds and yellows flickered around him, casting shadows deeper in his face as out of nothing more than cruelty he took the little wrists in one hand. He made no sound, no glee, no put-upon sigh, as he held the little white hands towards the fire. Kirigiri, of course, wriggled, the sensitive nerves of her hands, her fingers feeling the heat rise with immediacy. She screeched, screamed, pulled against the solid force of the displeased man whose bloody hands stained her own, burning digits. A sudden disregard overtook the man; maybe the smoke had addled him, as he began reaching forward, pressing both his and Kirigiri’s own hands to the source of the fire, the splintering planks, the bedraggled furniture, the glowing, whining glass. 

Coughs wracked both bodies, big and small, and Kirigiri couldn’t feel her head any more, dizziness taking her small frame tottering to the sides as pain overwhelmed her senses. She didn’t know whether to cough or scream or breathe or escape or maybe she could just die. Either way, something had happened. Kirigiri didn’t know whether something had fallen on him or if he’d breathed his last, but the man had crumpled neatly on the floor, head lolling straight into the fire. She scrambled away the moment the hold was lessened, smoke clawing tears out of her eyes. Coughs had her doubled up and the lack of oxygen was addling her. However, this was her home and she knew how thick the bushes were outside, and where the windows were. She staggered back down the hallway, hands shaking wildly and her mind too numb from pain to process the pure white, burning agony shooting from her little arms through her small frame. With skin bubbling, sticking to the window as she pushed it open, she jumped, her mind fading once she’d put her little feet on the window sill. 

She was only one floor up. She’d be fine, right? A lot had happened in the past few minutes and it couldn’t possibly get worse. If she was impaled on a branch then at least the inferno she was holding in her hands wouldn’t be her torment. Maybe she’d be young enough to count as innocent and would get a free pass into heaven. Of course she’d think this and then wake up in hospital with bandage mitts in the place of hands and a sense of absence in the previously so hyperactive centres of sensory activity. Of course she’d wake up with a horde of doctors and nurses in the place where her father should be, right next to her, telling her it would be okay. Things just weren’t designed to be fair.

 

“It wasn’t going to be a happy story.” Kirigiri said after a moment. Celes raised the hand to her lips again in response, turning around to now face Kirigiri. She kissed the yellowing bruise on the jaw, tracing that ever present sadness, that melancholy in the burnt out bones. It was a shame she couldn’t let anyone close; she would love to be Kirigiri’s intimacy, but brokenness demanded attention. She’d never sell damaged goods.

“You’re a good story teller, though. Happy or sad.” She smiled a small smile. Kirigiri only raised an eyebrow, a sharp humour taking over her depression.

“I’d bet money you’re a superior story teller. Any day. All the gambling stories? You certainly have imagination.” Celes stuck her tongue out in response, her own smile on her face.

“Is there a story you’d like to hear?” Kirigiri paused for a second, but she knew what she wanted to know. Or rather, who she wanted to know.

“Tell me about Taeko Yasuhiro. And Celestia Ludenberg.” She thought she’d asked politely enough, but a knee whipped its way to the space between her legs, kneading against her firmly. A moan escaped her lips before she’d finished her sentence. Celes set herself on top of the lilac girl, that cold absentness entering her eyes again. A harsh whisper of “no” chilled Kirigiri through and throughout as the brutal intimacy returned. Celes grabbed her arms, pinning them above her head as her teeth descended again, marking Kirigiri all over, renewing the bruises with more vigour than the past few times Kyouko had been made subject. 

Celes watched the girl squirm beneath her, pressing her knee firmly between the thin legs. Grim dissatisfaction stole over her face as the lilac girl, instead of falling limp to the gambler’s desires, began grinding hard against the knee, aspiring to finish the work Celes had started. She forced her knee higher, a yelp escaping those perfect lips. Celes regarded the body working hard beneath her, the elongation of the spine, stretch and recoil of the shifting stomach, rolling the breasts and firm muscles in such a perfect way. The restrained arms added another edge to it, splaying Kirigiri’s body before her, writhing and coiling in a messy attempt to prompt Celes to further action. The perfect mouth was open, quivering with steaming breath as Celes slowly began to move her knee, up, down, a slow circular motion rocking the hips of the girl in a building speed from motionless to infuriatingly slow. 

“P-please…”

Celes acted with speed. Her body pushed, grinding against Kirigiri’s, a practised delicate force manoeuvring, rolling the gambler’s spine. Kyouko struggled, freeing her hands, one gloved and one gloveless pushing Celes’ top over her head, revealing the deteriorating body and frilled bra. Her hands remained, tracing a line of frailty over the bones of the ribcage, along the protruding hip bones tearing against her own. “You don’t eat enough, Celes…” she mumbled, holding the bony shoulder blades, pressing Celes’ body to her as Celes’ weight balanced on top of her, teeth biting and grinding skin, as far as her neck could dip.

Celes growled in response, gnawing at Kirigiri’s lip in an abruptly silencing kiss. “You’re not here to make comments.” Was all Kyouko received in response as she found her own top being yanked at, to be thrown across the room. Celes nipped at her jaw, her cheekbones and an impromptu blush flooded Kirigiri’s face, heat pooling below her stomach. She couldn’t help it, but the thought of people seeing she was owned appealed to a darker part of her mind. She kissed the girl lightly on the cheek, hands rising to gently massage the gambler’s breasts, the warmth and softness pooling in her hand in an appealing, no, alluring sort of way. Celes' own, rougher actions brought an abrupt end to Kirigiri’s softer, more heartfelt turns of affection. In fact, she was the only one showing affection, as could be seen by the way Celes was tearing her body up, grinding, grating against her, whimpers pooling in Kirigiri’s mouth, her mind unable to compute what she could perform in return.

When Celes had made her way to unbuttoning Kirigiri’s trousers, an army of scratches and bruises had been etched down Kirigiri’s body, circling her nipples, lining her back, between her ribs, and she needed that tongue inside of her that second. Soon she was free of the clothing, and she could feel the heated dampness between her legs already, a slickness Celes was fingering with a smirk on her face. Kirigiri knew she was being teased, groaning, moaning as the gambler suddenly slowed to an almost halt, toying with the folds, nudging them aside with her nose, followed by one slow lick upwards. “Celes...”

A finger darted inside her, pushing the bottom of Kirigiri’s spine rolling against the sofa. “What?” Kirigiri could only whimper in response as Celes swirled her finger slowly around her, sensitive, slick skin being merely played with. Celes watched Kirigiri’s mouth try to form words, but no sound escaped and she lowered her head back down with a smug grin. Another, slow lick had Kirigiri bucking towards her, moans for more, please Celes, filling the Lounge as the cruel slowness was emanated again. “If you keep moving like that I’ll stop. Try stay still.” Celes grinned viciously, watching the quivers shake through the lilac girl as the tongue circled her clit with a menacing dexterity. A small rocking began to take Kirigiri’s hips and Celes’ tongue withdrew.

“Celes, please…” came that breaking, small voice. But the beast was not sated and oh didn’t she love the taste of control. Her nails dug deep into the skin of Kirigiri’s thigh, the blood rushing almost palpable, silencing the pleas with a choking whine. Of course, it was hard to remain in a state of detached control with that wet warmth so close. Kirigiri was not left to beg long. A hum of content when mouth met warmth from Celes throbs through her, rattling her bones, squeezing the breath from her lungs. Kirigiri tried to speak, but her words were incoherent and Celes laughed against her, slowing for a moment only to plough on with an immediate assault which had Kirigiri coming around her.

It didn’t take long for her to return from her high, but still, it was long enough for Kirigiri to forget her question until she was close to falling asleep. Who was Taeko? Why Celestia Ludenberg in her stead? An unscathed Celestia curled tight against her, vulnerable in the face of the night. Kyouko wondered what prompted the girl to act so callously in terms of anything past friendship. She wondered and hypothesised, grasping for the strands of reason that had Celes forget her cruelty when they woke up as the gambler traced her face in the morning, the reason that had Celes only turning her banter spiteful right at the end of their conversations. Kirigiri struggled to ignore the amorous friendship, those nights when they’d just be together. There were feelings but Celestia Ludenberg was clutching her cards to her chest and refused to lose, when maybe this time losing in her book would be winning in her opponent’s. Kirigiri watched the frowning yet peaceful face and soon found her own rest.

 

\--

 

Late one night, Kirigiri was sat in the living room of her home, Sayaka across from her. Sayaka had managed to get the music from her laptop to play through one of her old guitar amps; despite what one may have thought due to her pretty face, Sayaka had toured for most of her life; given the time, she could probably have fixed a makeshift toaster out of a hairdryer. In fact, that had been what they were talking about: Sayaka’s band days. They’d reached her first, and last, gig in London. It was a smaller, more private do, the pop-sound cranked down a few notches for a more orchestral-alternative sound. She’d even found her old twelve string especially. The other girls had all played more traditional instruments before they’d truly stepped into the idol world. The venue had been an old theatre, the tiered seating now tiered standing. A bar had been placed in one corner, with the ground ‘seats’ set a bit lower for the stage to appear higher. The attention had been getting too much for the group; the endless hordes of people fixated on the tiny details of their lives was not so much loved as a cause of stress. They had all purposefully focussed on downsizing, but of course that didn’t mean the tickets for this particular gig hadn’t sold out entirely within the first hour.

Sayaka mentioned her surprise to Kirigiri, in hindsight, at having first met Celes there, of all places. She figured Celes was more there to accompany Leon, Chihiro and Naegi, all whom she’d been in contact with in the gaming community, only months before her big début on the global stage. No matter why she’d been there, Celes had been a permanent fixture at the bar almost all night, but Sayaka didn’t place her at any older than her own age at the time, seventeen years. Illegal to be served alcohol at a bar or public place in England until eighteen. However, there was a deep age in Celes’ eyes which she hadn’t been so good at hiding back then. After the gig, Sayaka managed to get the four behind stage. It didn’t take long for Celes’ dry charm to run its course, resulting in a deeply infatuated Sayaka. It lasted a bit longer than a year, so not to be sneezed at, not at all. In fact, that year had been Sayaka’s last in the world’s limelight. When she travelled, Celes travelled with her, raking in the cash at every casino whilst her girlfriend took to the stage within the same town, only now battered with bruises make-up couldn’t quite conceal.

Kirigiri could see her try to laugh it off, desperately emphasising the good times, but the panic stricken tension, the hand raising to touch that spot on her jaw just became more evident as a result. “You only knew her as Celes, then…” she tried not to sound disappointed. Sayaka shook her head apologetically.

“No, not many of us knew Taeko. But… well, we know of her. We know what happened… We helped her.” Kirigiri raised her eyebrows at this, then furrowed them into a confused frown. Sayaka didn’t notice. “If you want to know what Taeko was like way before, I’d ask Yamada, but…” again, that submerged sadness entered her eyes, “He…” Kirigiri nodded, believing she understood. She may have understood if Sayaka meant ‘Yamada is Yamada, and by that I mean unhelpful’, but from the stunned, disturbed silence now spiralling through the usually cheerful girl, it wasn’t quite as simple as that. Sayaka made no attempt to correct Kirigiri. It wasn’t her place to divulge another’s past. “I’m sorry, that was a tangent. You wanted to know something else?”

Kirigiri nodded, a small smile on her face, causing a tug at that bruise in that spot on her jaw. Only it was at this time the front door opened and Naegi entered. He stepped into the living room, looking around before his eyes alighted on Sayaka. Instead of a smile, a grim determination took over his face and Kirigiri knew what was about to happen. She stood, patted Sayaka’s knee. “It can wait.” She left the room without another word, only a glance towards the resolute Naegi. He and Sayaka had been steadily moving towards a breakup for some time now. It was almost a full month after New Year’s, and it seemed to be going well; they’d handled it splendidly. Kirigiri could see them being friends afterwards, or at least being able to abide each other’s company. She ghosted up the cluttered stairs, littered with books and papers, chasing Oowada and Yamada back up the stairs before they could greet Naegi with offers of almost entirely inedible home-cooking. She barely caught the whispered ‘no’ from Sayaka’s lips as she’d surrendered the girl to an end, stepping from that heartsick room.

Having chased Oowada into the kitchen (first floor) to sort out whatever the hell was causing that smoke, Kirigiri noticed that, as everyone in the house was busy, she could have a private word with Yamada concerning his friend. She grabbed his arm, dragging him up the second flight of stairs, him spluttering all the way upstairs, taken aback by the firmness of the bruised girl. Once they’d reached the upstairs, he was wiping his glasses nervously. “What’s this about, Kyouko Kirigiri? I was in the middle of creating the first rice and onion ring omelette, you realise. I have transferred my talented hands from the arts to the canvas of the kitchen. Chihiro won’t always be around to cook for all of us, you know…”

“Yeah.” Kirigiri responded quickly, cutting him off sharply, “I just had a question.”

“What could I possibly bring enlightenment upon which you could not?” He enquired with more words than necessary, causing a small grin to breach Kirigiri’s lips. She shook her head to herself briefly, before turning to him in case she bewildered him too soon to answer her question.

“Can you tell me about Taeko Yasuhiro?” 

The glasses fell from large hands, dropping to the ground. They bounced when they landed, but Yamada did not stoop to pick them up. Hands shook, the face behind the spectacles turning a blank white. “Do you know what you’re even asking me?” he whispered, eyes fixed on something beyond his blurred sight, widened in horror. Someone’s phone buzzed repeatedly. Kirigiri realised it was hers and she took it from her pocket as she rested a hand in concern on Yamada’s shoulder. Yamada brushed Kirigiri from his side, picking up his glasses. He glanced at the now legible sender on Kirigiri’s screen and pointed towards it, clearing his throat. “You’ll want to heed that.” Celes had texted. ‘Get over here now’. Kirigiri stared at the screen. She knew what Celes was after. A body to keep her warm in the night, someone to hold her. Someone for her to fuck in a drunken reverie. “Go on.” Yamada prompted, a feeble smile twitching at his mouth. “Celestia is much more impatient, compared to Taeko.” Kirigiri watched Yamada with bewildered eyes before nodding once, heading back downstairs.

 

Yamada’s eyes followed her exit, a sigh deep in his lungs. He witnessed her leave to follow the beck and call, saw her ignore the muffled tears behind a closed door. She didn’t know, but he did. He knew Taeko as well as he knew Celestia; his friend had always wanted someone who didn’t know. He’d seen his friend’s infatuation with the lilac girl, now decorated with her bruises and he knew how far Celes would bluff to come away victorious. If keeping Kirigiri in the dark meant sacrificing a loving relationship, if pushing away the girl she loved meant she didn’t become a statistic to another person… Yamada knew how her mind worked, still after all of these years. But there was nothing he could do. He’d failed as a friend; he didn’t deserve to talk to her.

She was broken and broke others and all he could do was blame his shortcomings. He wished he could warn Kirigiri. Warn her that Taeko wasn’t in her right mind, but he figured as he watched her leave that she already knew. He prayed Kirigiri would go right where he’d gone wrong as she trudged towards her commanding mistress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. I can only hope this chapter worked. It's not meant to be happy sex. This isn't making love. This is fucking, pure and simple.  
> I tried to emphasise the parallels with Chapter 4  
> Celes doesn't want to mention the 'l' word and can only distract with the sex. Um. I can't really say anything without giving anything away but trust me, hopefully I can convey the lack of reason but also the huge, genuine motive and... Yea. Fingers crossed.


	8. Spring: Consider, rethink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _“Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you. Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother's eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? How can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when all the time there is a plank in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother's eye."_  
>     
>  **Matthew 7:1-5 and Luke 6:41-42**

Celes sat up from her position, pushing her hair back with a clean hand. She listened hard again, confirming that yes, someone was indeed knocking at the door. She rolled her eyes, grabbing a rugby shirt from the floor, pulling it over her underwear-clad form, the white-red top fluttering against black jeans. She paced out of her bedroom, with only a thankful thought that the girl had waited to light her end until she was out of the room. The knock sounded again before she pulled open the door to find Naegi. “Hello, Naegi. You managed to catch me at the end of round two.” Naegi raised a quizzical eyebrow at the statement, catching onto his own interpretation when he saw the half empty vodka bottle on a sofa.

“Do you mind if I come in? I need to talk to you about…” he gulped, clearly not quite wanting to talk about it, “about something. Private.” Celes eyed him.

“You mean my relationship with Kirigiri?” she questioned, no change overcoming her stance. Naegi nodded that, yes, that was why he was here. Celes had seen his contour become increasingly worried, nervous, itchy over the past few months. She’d seen his eyes taking longer to tear from that perfect mark of ownership crowning his dear friend’s jaw. Unfortunately, she’d catch herself applying the tricks of card games to her everyday happenstance and found Naegi’s disturbed apparel to be an almost constant thing of late. “Well, if it’s about me and Kirigiri…” she stepped aside to let him in and Naegi wondered why it had been so easy. He suspected there were a few tricks Celes was hiding. He was correct. Celes walked over to her bedroom door, knocked on it. “Hey, you’re going to have to leave now, Naegi wants to talk with me in private.” She turned back to her friend who’d shut the front door and placed himself against a wall, rolling her eyes with an exasperated smile on her face.

Naegi wasn’t surprised to see Kirigiri emerge from the bedroom, rolling her jumper down her body, a spliff dangling from her lips. She smiled at Naegi, holding up a hand in a quick wave as she sat on a sofa, pulling her boots up over her feet. Naegi wondered if, for a moment, he saw red marks circling her ankle. Naegi didn’t say anything and neither did Kirigiri, but Celes could see him squirm, now uncomfortable. Celes looped Kirigiri’s scarf around her neck, using the material to pull the lilac girl in for a rather intimate kiss, considering they had company. The material rested against the bruises and marks, a mixture of fresh and old. Naegi cleared his throat.

The two stepped apart and Kirigiri left with a small smile on her lips and that deep melancholy in her eyes. Naegi wanted to reach out a hand but Celes had already turned back to him. “I’m sorry, Naegi, you wanted to talk, didn’t you? The topic has entirely escaped from my mind.” The bluff was so poorly concealed and Naegi knew that he should take that as a sign that the conversation was closed. He shrugged, his bones jittering as a shudder ran through him. Damn, was it cold outside.

“I was only wanting to offer you help setting up! For the Lounge this evening…” His eyes darted away from the victorious little smirk painted across Celes’ face.

“You are too kind, Naegi.” Maybe if he had turned back he would’ve seen the despondent sadness there as well.

\--

Some days, Kirigiri would awake in her own bed in her own house, the clatter of pans only a floor away. Naegi’s voice would be heard, as would Oowada’s. It was hard to ignore the booming, brazen chords. He would make a good public speaker, though Naegi certainly did have a much more amicable voice which could be heard in any, all situations. He was a voice of reason. Chihiro’s voice was sweet, not as deep as most men which certainly aided his androgynous fashions. Either way, his voice ran and soothed, golden like honey, fresh and spritely even when he was nervous (which was less often now). Yamada’s huffing babble always had an underlying tone of middle class finery. If he were liquor, he’d be the scotch in the desk drawer, or the whiskey behind the shelf rather than the champagne on the silver tray. Up until recently, Sayaka had been that champagne on that ornamented plate. Nonsense lyrics would spiral up and down the staircase as she hummed along whatever tune her brain took her through. Nowadays, lackadaisical words were seldom heard, a cast low mutter occasionally pervading her silence. Kirigiri missed her voice, her optimism. 

Most days, Kirigiri woke in Celes’ bed. Whether Celes was there or not was another matter entirely. Normally she wasn’t. But when she was, they’d be wrapped around each other so tightly Kirigiri would wonder in that brief morning haze how Celes even managed to unravel herself at all without disturbing the lilac girl. When asked, Celes had assured her that it was a talent and haven’t you got some sleeping to do or whatever. There were some nights they’d fall into each other’s arms, spent, exhausted and Celes would look away from her, discomfort, disgust written across her face. It was those times when Kirigiri would wake maybe a few hours later to find Celes hadn’t slept at all. Well, maybe Celes had, but Taeko was awake, maybe with her PSP, maybe with her DS, maybe even with a manga. It was then that Kirigiri would leave the house with a smile the next day, no matter how tightly bound to the bedstead she’d find herself in the morning, how furious Celes was that she had let herself slip and how she’d take it out, out, out on Kirigiri’s bruising frame. She still wasn’t eating properly.

It seemed, Kirigiri realised as she discovered she couldn’t move her arms, that maybe last night as well she’d gotten too close to Taeko again. Handcuffs pinned her, arms splayed out across the headrest of the bed. Celes was nowhere to be seen. She enjoyed her games and normally Kirigiri was too euphoric from actually interacting with the girl she loved to care that, again, her consent was dismissed. She’d feel the crushing burn of it grip her when she got back home and saw Sayaka, maybe cowered on a sofa, maybe trudging up the stairs in clothes she’d worn almost a week straight. She would feel it when she heard the idol’s sobs echo around the dingy shower, when she was hiding under the covers in her bed. She always felt it the most when Sayaka was quietly sat in their now shared room, brushing her hair endlessly, for hours on end, staring at the mirror staring back.

A door opened and a door closed. A silhouette entered the room and straddled her stomach. Celes’ fingers searched her body almost methodically, pinching and twisting where she knew it would hurt the most –after all, she needed to make up her ruthlessness for the failure last night.

There’s a struggle against the shirt hanging from Kirigiri’s arms, unbuttoned rashly, the sound of ripped seams startling the lilac girl as much as the ferocity of the gambler above her. She moves with an itching burn in her limbs, as if she can’t be done with this fast enough. Kirigiri’s sides are brutally massaged and she squirms to fill the hands, with that heat rising from her body, the heat Celes seems to have a very fine nose for. Kirigiri flushes as her underwear is cupped in a calm hand. The thumb rolls against the fabric, pushing against the damp slit past the panties. Kirigiri tries to lower herself but the handcuffs hold her. The other hand leaves the bruised ribcage to travel a light path up her thigh, the fingers tracing the flesh neatly. There’s an absent look in Celes’ eyes and Kirigiri wonders if Taeko is trying to stop. There’s a flash of anger, as if Kyouko’s understanding is obvious and Celestia begins to play rough.

Kirigiri’s toes curl, her moans, gasps, whimpers clamouring past her bitten and kissed lips. The headrest of the bed shakes as she’s pounded hard, a demonic strength possessing the gambler between her legs. She’s spread so wide her joints ache, the sheets are soaked and soaked again but Celes keeps going, as if her hands really are flame, as if a scolding touch is pushing, pushing her to pound and pound, plunge and plunge with the same rhythm as Kirigiri’s hammering heart. There seems to be no end in sight as Celes repositions the bound girl over and over, plunge, plunge, and it’s only when it ends Kirigiri hears her sobbing. The weight shifts from the bed to the floor and Kyouko can hear past her deep gulps of air Taeko repositioning herself into a ball on the floor. The girl probably has pulled a jumper or blanket over her head, hiding herself from the world as she sobs and snivels, rubbing her runny nose with her unsteady hands. There’s the sound of a small object dragged across the carpet and Taeko is drinking again. Kirigiri twists and contorts her spine, willing aching muscles to move but her restraints hold her from attempting to comfort the girl.

Kirigiri itches to be free, itches to be there beside her, holding her, cradling her. The key is in Celes’ pocket, though Taeko cannot fathom why Kirigiri won’t get up to help her.

\--

A figure sat in her bedroom. There is a mug in her hand and she is sat staring out a window. Dark splotches cover her neck. The bed recently moved into her room is empty of its inhabitant. The inhabitant is having a discussion downstairs, not that she’s participating. There are sounds of exasperation and the one holding the discussion gives up. He can’t talk sense into her; he can’t talk sense into himself. Naegi comes upstairs to see Kirigiri. She is sat, still. The dark splotches patter and curl into her skin, twisting the flesh. Unseen hands clamour to grasp her throat. Her shoulders shake as her breath rattles her spine, clatters her bones. She’s been crying; he can hear it in her lungs.

“I think…” Naegi clears his throat again, “I think maybe you should come to the Lounge this evening. You and me, we can talk to Celes properly about this. We can talk to her about how much she’s hurting you, yeah?”

“No.” The mug is raised to her lips, though it is bone dry.

“Kirigiri, I don’t want you to hurt any more. I’m your friend and I’m stepping in to help.”

Not too far away a girl raises a bottle to her lips. It stays there as she drowns her mind quickly, but not quick enough. Her limbs are trembling, her muscles sore. She can feel how hard she’s been tearing in and wants to forget exactly what her limbs have enacted.

“Naegi, no. I can help her.” She has never sound so certain in her life, but Naegi knows he can’t stand back any longer. He enters the room now, swift strides. Downstairs there is sobbing.

“Kyouko.” She flinches at her own name, “I know I said once you two would be good for each other.”

“You were right.”

“I was wrong.” He places a firm hand on her shoulder, trying to tug her gaze away from the stars on high. “I was so wrong and I am so sorry my mistake has done this to you.” In the room across, one would find that those were the same words Yamada whispered to himself endlessly. He knew what a real mistake was. “But it’s going to stop now. Put your shoes on, you’re my plus one.” He tries to iron out his crinkled smile.

“Naegi, I can’t.” That crying figure on the floor; she’ll be able to reach her soon, soon. She can feel it and she knows it but doesn’t have the words to convey it.

“You can.” He misunderstands. The lilac girl sighs and nods that she will be down in a moment. She steels herself inside as her friend relaxes.

Not too far away, Celes is sat in her Lounge, bottle swinging from her grip. She isn’t drunk and wishes she was. There is a pit of sadness she needs to fill deep in her belly. Her limbs ache, and she’s remembering the limbs above hers, years before. Pushing, scrabbling, powered with more will, more fire than hers. She is glad she is not so passionate in cruelty. She drinks and drinks. She quenches that fire that attempts to build, to kindle, to flame and burn right up through her and take her. Her disturbed pain turned to a venomous hatred years ago and she is still trying to keep it in check. She feels the hands burned into her flesh. Her mind flickers to Kirigiri and there is calm. Then the fire sears and burns and reminds her, burning low through her. She drinks deep, drowns with force. She could never sell damaged goods.

\--

The corridor to the Lounge is as regal as ever, the carpet a deep red, cleaned daily. The corners smell of fresh detergent and hopeful sprays of rose. The outside mud sinks deep into the fibres, clutching and holding. Someone has cleaned the bottom of their boots against a wall and all anyone can think when they see it is ‘pompous bastard’, whoever it was. The colour scheme of the hallway isn’t too dissimilar to that of the Ludenberg Lounge itself, an extension, a limb of the elegant room itself. The Lounge wasn’t built into the apartment, the apartment was built around the Lounge. Or at least is the strong sense pervading the standard of living, refined with a sharp edge of almost sarcasm. The windows leer at the sidewalk, the doors remain smartly shut. As one walks along the floor of the Lounge, the hostility felt from the walls is paramount, enclosing the visitor. Visitor, of course, pertains to anyone who isn’t Celestia Ludenberg. Anyone who isn’t part of the Lounge. Everything else is temporary. Only Celestia Ludenberg, a manifestation of Taeko Yasuhiro’s final defence against trauma.

Celestia smiles to herself. She convinces herself about how much she loves hearing the lilac girl gasp with pain. She persuades herself that doing this is the best thing she could possibly manage, not the moments stolen in the computer light, herself and darling Kyouko huddled close together to share the fiction. Video games are for losers, manga is for babies she crows to herself as she sweeps all the bets under one victorious arm. The other she holds to her face so she can pretend to herself she isn’t crying.

There is a knock at the door of the Lounge. The meeting begins. Celestia Ludenberg stands without a stagger, walking towards the door and there is Kirigiri. Naegi holds onto the material over her arm, his knuckles white with the strain of holding her in place. Celes barely gives him a glance. “We’ve talked about this.” Kirigiri looks to her feet. “You know what I’ve said.” She leans in close, her breath against the shell of the lilac girl’s ear startling her. “Darling?” she whispers. A hand cups Kirigiri’s cheekbone. She sighs into it, leaning against the curve of the palm as the side of her face is peppered with light kisses. Naegi is no longer the one holding her in place. Incisors graze the skin. “Why are you here?”

“I tried not to…”

“You are in control of your own legs.”

“Naegi…” Kirigiri clamps her mouth shut before she can dump her friend deep in it. She takes responsibility for her own actions. “I’m sorry.” Celes makes a warm, satisfied noise deep in her throat. Her lips hover momentarily over the bruise and Kirigiri stiffens. She does nothing, withdrawing. Her thumb strokes the side of darling Kyouko’s face. Their lips brush.

“Go home, darling. You’re not welcome in the Lounge.” Kirigiri dips her head and begins to walk off back down the hostile corridor. Taeko can feel the hands searing against her flesh and screams to reach out a hand, to stop the girl fast. Naegi gets there first.

“Hold on a moment!” he exclaims in bewilderment. Kirigiri doesn’t look at her friend, embarrassment clear across her face. “What… why can’t Kirigiri join us this one time? Huh?” he stalks towards Celes, face mere inches from hers, kind features blistered with anger.

 

The others walk in to find a scene. Naegi pressing Celes against a wall, pinning her there with his arms. His raised voice was near incomprehensible with rage. Kirigiri was placed between the two, trying to pry her friend away from her… trying to pry her friend from Celes. As the group moved forward at speed, no-one could think of any accurate description of Celes and Kirigiri’s relationship. Just so happened that was exactly what Naegi was yelling about. As Sakura threw her hands onto Naegi’s shoulders with Oowada and Ishimaru holding onto either side, Naegi let go when Celes whispered a few quiet words. The words caused him to fall to the floor. Leon rushed forward to help him to his feet, but Naegi’s widened eyes just stare at the gambler in front of him. The alcohol hangs densely around her, a thick cloud making her almost unreachable.

What did you say, what did you say?

Celes stated her words weren’t for repetition, but they’re running circles around Naegi’s head.

“Look at what you did to Sayaka.”

Oh and does he look at what he’s done to Sayaka. His eyes blearily search the group, the friends all poised to help and there is definitely a gap where the blue haired idol should be, with those oceanic eyes worried and waiting. He was her first after Celestia. He’d helped her grow past the pain. By doing so, she’d grown around him. She’d had the worst luck; could she ever trust anyone to the same capacity again? Kirigiri has her arms to Celes, holding her, and somehow Celes isn’t eying him with the glory from an easy kill, but has almost collapsed into her. Her eyes are wider, she seems more scared. In front of him Kirigiri holds Taeko and he realises he was wrong.

The evening's soiree isn’t cancelled. Celestia welcomes her guests in and directly escorts Kirigiri to the bedroom with a bottle of rum; she insisted on staying. The group settles and bottles are passed around. Celes still has some of that eggnog vodka from Christmas and someone decides a drinking game is called for. She drinks for far more of the sexual ‘never have I ever’s than she wishes to recall and the same can be said for Junko. The two end up sat together on one of the sofas, Celestia having won and pulled out of a high-stakes game of black-jack very early on. As the others call and boo, jeer at the cards either in their hands or on the table, Celes and Junko make their game far more private.

Somehow their private game wound itself towards a particular topic of conversation Celes would rather avoid. At least from Junko she could tolerate it. Out of the corner of her eye, Celes can see Mukuro hovering never too far from her sister, constantly glancing away from her political discussion over bucks fizz with Togami, Asahina and Yamada towards the younger, more flash twin. Cute.

“Celes, hun, _talk_ to me.” Junko drawled. Celes saw the drunken front and laughed, flicking the model’s knee.

“Stop acting drunk, it’s embarrassing. If you want to be drunk, drink more!” the alcoholic eggnog was waved in front of Junko’s face and a hand flew up to protect the perfect nose with the adorable freckles.

“Fuck off, that is the weirdest drink I’ve ever had.” She sniggered, then a dreadful seriousness cast over her features, “But really. Talk. What was that in the hall?” Celes sat back, shrugged, her eyes flitting towards Naegi who was sat, cards in hand, concentrating too much on what he was holding than what anyone else was playing. She watched him pick up four cards and her vision darted back to Junko. The houselights had been dimmed significantly, a red shade cast over them, plunging the room into deep burgundy. Leon had rigged up a disco ball and a torch, with people having to go over occasionally and give it another quick spin. A jagged beam reflected from the ball shone over Junko’s face, quick shadows deepening her gaunt, her cheekbones seeming wider, her eyes deeper. The light passed and she was no less intimidating than normal. Celes took a sliver of her drink. If tigers could smile…

“In the hall… Nothing, really. Naegi tried to lecture me on relationships when he himself is hardly a good teacher.” A dark scowl took her perfect eyebrows down to a glare, “He had the audacity to drag Kirigiri along to witness it. Poor dear.” Normally Junko would be on the other side of the sofa, nodding in understanding, yes Celes, oh no Celes, what a douchebag, Celes.

“Why?” Junko always had the knack of asking questions in an annoying fashion.

“Why what, Junko?”

“Why was he confronting you in your own hallway with your girlfriend -sorry, fuck toy- in tow?” Celes frowned, watching Junko’s every movement. Behind the charismatic and dangerous smile was a charismatic and dangerous individual. The light passed over them and the shadow engulfed Junko again. “He went about it the wrong way, yes. But Celes, you know he’s only worried for his friend.” Junko sighed, swirling the drink in her hand, watching the liquid slosh around the glass. She was careful none would spill. She saw the malevolent glint in her friend’s eye. Unlike most of the others, she’d known Celes when it had happened. She hadn’t known Celes as Yamada had, nor as Sayaka had, but she had always been there for the girl, her dear, sweet, precious friend. “Have you considered… maybe making your relationship with Kyouko a bit… easier?”

“I already have ropes etcetera in the bedroom, we covered this in the game.”

Junko laughed sharply, despite herself “You know what I mean.” Celes shifted, looking into her glass now, that strange yellow liquid suddenly very unappealing. “It wouldn’t be hard, you know. And that’s kind of the point. Love shouldn’t be hard.” Celes eyes darted upwards, ferocious, crazed, scared.

“No-one said love.” She growled, downing the drink with a sharp backwards jolt of her head. “No-one.”

“She did.”

“She almost did.”

“You didn’t let her finish.” 

Celes smirked darkly, remembering the bucking hips against the blistering invisible hand marks on her flesh. “She didn’t seem to mind. And I did let her finish… in a way.” Junko rolled her eyes with a chuckle on the outside but inside she grimaced. Taeko wouldn’t have said that. Celestia must have seen the inwards shudder as her smug half smile turned very sour very quickly. She looked around the room and a few people turned away. They’d been looking at her all evening with varying degrees of inconspicuous success. Fukawa snapped her head back around violently when the red eyes alighted on her, Sakura held the angry stare for a moment, Leon became fascinated with his belt buckle. Chihiro was more discreet, slowing his turn to be more natural. Oowada made a scene as if looking for more drink. But no matter what they did they’d all been staring and she could feel the gazes prickle the nape of her neck. 

She raised a hand to her braid, undoing it slowly with one hand, feeling the deep black hair smooth itself, fluttering against her skin. Putting her glass to the side, she tied it up into a bun. She stood, smoothed out her charcoal grey pencil skirt, fiddled with the rings on her fingers. She couldn’t take any more of this, and they saw the dismissal in her hostess’s eyes, cold yet warm, welcoming yet hostile. Outside, the hallway enclosed around them and inside the room became more comfortable. She had been expecting guests and she had received them. They knew where her spare key was, and they knew just to slide it through the letterbox when gone. Celestia Ludenberg smiled at her friends, exited to her bedroom.

Kirigiri had fallen asleep, bottle still mostly full in her hands. Her body rose and fell, bruises seen on every clear piece of skin. The duvet only partially covered her and Celes wondered if she’d be cold soon. Celes sat beside her on the bed, watched the girl curled up into herself in sleep. A hand strayed to the white hair, stroked it. She lay down next to her, facing the girl. She brought her knees up so they were touching Kyouko’s. Taeko breathed out. The hands covering her seared and burned. She inched closer to the lilac girl, a hand finding the jaw, delicately smoothing and rubbing along by the slightly sticky-out ear. Lilac eyes fluttered open slowly and Taeko shushed her back to oblivion, smiling sadly, smiling warmly. Kirigiri smiled back drowsily, an un-gloved hand crawling into Taeko’s other, twining the fingers together. 

Taeko sighed, watching the girl fall back to sleep. The hands along her body blistered and the hands along Kirigiri bruised. Oh what she would do to forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm late.  
> Sorry it's sad.  
> Merry Christmas (a bit late)


	9. Burn, Liar. Burn.

The sun shone in through the open window, curtains billowing in the summer breeze. A potted plant was sat on the window sill, watered vigilantly by its owner. The green leaves were tumbling down the side of the pot from the weight; the little bamboo sticks in a desk drawer were ready for such an emergency. On top of the desk, paper was strewn everywhere along with game manuals, a few books, typical of one studying maths in the 6th form, plus a few extra handled with less care.

In her back pocket, Taeko’s phone buzzed. On the bed was her suitcase, packed with clothes and a few outfits –handmade, of course. In her wallet was her ticket and VIP pass for the convention. Luckily, she wouldn’t be travelling too far for this one, seeing as she was heading off by herself for the first time. Pulling her phone from her pocket, chocolate-hazel eyes flicked quickly over the words, a hand absently pushing a strand of deep red-brunette hair from her freckled face. Yamada was wishing her luck once more and she quickly darted back a reply.

“Don’t you have a car to fix? Stop congratulating me, god!”

This was the first convention she’d been to without him. He was needed helping in his uncle’s garage, though all he could really do was stand around, hold out a spanner or two and occasionally deal with a customer at the desk. Also she’d done well in her mock exams so far this academic year; he had not. He wasn’t staying back from this one just for his part-time job. His grades were suffering and he knew it. Taeko frowned at the mirror and it frowned back as she rearranged her hair into a large, messy plait. He’d have to work harder if they wanted to achieve their dream of getting into Oxford together. Admittedly, it wasn’t much of a dream, but she’d already achieved hers. There she was, Taeko Yasuhiro. Popular not only as a cosplayer and model, but a voice actress in a very recent, up and coming anime which had scored instantaneous success, enough to invite her to a con panel. This wasn’t her first panel, but this was the first where she’d been answering the questions instead of asking. She’d do well, or at least so she was told. Her natural love for gaming and all things manga would make her a hit with the crowd, and her dry, quick humour was definitely a favourable aspect. Her phone buzzed again. She placed the last few strands into place, tied the end of her hair and picked it up.

“You deserve it! Congrats, congrats, congrats! Buy me some stuff whilst you’re there or you can give me back my nendos :P I’m just sorry I cant be there with you :( itd be great to see you on panel but I guess I can watch online later or smth”

 

Taeko smiled at that, shaking her head. Her eyes darted possessively to the array of nendoroids and figures on her desk, on her drawers. She picked one up, a typical Hatsune Miku, leek in hand, gorgeous little smile on face. Carefully, she placed model and stand in her ‘travel bag’ for figurines and slid it into a side pocket of her suitcase. 

“Fuck you :P” she sent speeding back, “I’m taking your precious miku with me as a hostage! Or maybe just company. It’ll be weird without you, mads. Who am I going to share my glorious swag with at the hotel? Now piss off ive got a train to catch”

“Just be safe, taco girl, you know how some creeps can be :/”

“yeah yeah but honestly what are the chances of anything even happening? Now PISS OFF MADS, TRAIN TO CATCH :PP”

“enjoy yourself! And keep in touch, taco!”

 

\--

 

The convention itself was huge. With it being run on the good side of the half term holiday, tons of the ‘younger’ audience were there to participate in the con. Taeko’s hotel was only around the corner from the convention centre itself and as she stepped off the train and into Paddington, sunglasses on her nose, hat on head she saw a few iconic t-shirts and darted away from their direction. Already she felt a slight thrill. The moment her suitcase entered through her hotel door she fell face first onto the bed. She inhaled the fresh sell of the sheets and pushed herself from the bed, buzzing with hyperactivity. She’d managed to book herself a room with a balcony - because didn’t she just love balconies - and pranced onto it having flung the doors open. She smiled at the cityscape of London, the sun overhead, the pizzeria in eyesight. The strong wind hit her, chilling her face through to the bone, fluttering her plain, mid-thigh dress and long cardigan. If Yamada were there, she’d have spread her arms wide and yelled, “Hold me, Jack!” for all the world to hear and he would’ve stepped up behind her, holding her waist and screamed “Hell no!”. With Yamada's asexual attitudes and Taeko's devout homosexuality, the scope of their platonic horizons were endless. It was a little freedom, releasing in a way.

She sighed. Pulling her phone from a pocket in her cardigan, she dug around in her suitcase for her charger. To get it to it, she had to gently lay aside her cosplay gear, a wide smile on her face as she did so. Damn would she look good this year. She looked good every year.

The plan this year was simple. With the convention tomorrow, the rest of that day she’d be messing around with the rest of her cast; she didn’t feel like relying on them too much though, seeing as how aloof they tended to act towards their younger colleague. With that precise thought in mind, her fake ID would be in a pocket on her person. She already knew where the local gambling scene was and definitely had enough cash to make the journey at least fifty times. And with Yamada away this year, she had just that much more cash. Of course she regretted the emptiness his absence caused in the hotel room. He knew exactly when she wanted her tea, always had everything –from makeup to food- one hundred percent in position for the both of them. He knew the jokes which could make her smile, the prescription on her glasses in case they broke (again), the face cream she used in case she ran out. The curtains billowed; the room was still. She choked, her eyes clouding up a bit. His absence certainly did hang in the air. Homesickness was kicking in. She hadn’t been this alone before. But who could she call? Her mother? She chuckled to herself, shaking her head. In hell, maybe. 

An idea occurred. Her laptop was found. Her blog was opened, and skype was also online. She made a post, typical of the kind one posts when excited for a convention and waited. Her cursor hovered around various skype contacts, her thoughts going along the basic line “should I, should I not”. A few names caught her eye; Asahina Aoi, Leon Kuwata, Naegi Makoto, Fukawa Touko –none of whom she particularly wanted to talk to. She sighed, opening another tab and typed in the first few letters of a url and her history filled in the rest. The idol blog for one particular band. Her eyes lit up as she found a particular vlog entry, the latest. “Thank God for updates.” She muttered to herself, clicking the play button and watching the blue eyes, the wide smile and gorgeous face of Maizono Sayaka come to life. 

“Hi guys!” she shuffled on screen, her arms stretched out of view, fiddling with the camera angle. Her hands floated around by her head as she sat back, chewing her lips with an expectant frown, waiting for the camera to have the audacity to fall. “I’m currently in the tour bus… The others went to get food or something at a station so I thought I’d…. just… do a blog entry!” she sighed, blew at her fringe, shaping that adorable face of hers. “I can feel the significant difference comparing this year to last year already. Relationships are shitty; doubt I’ll be dating a guy for some time now!” she laughed, her eyes darting with fear only momentarily. Taeko didn’t expect many people to pick up on it, those watching –she made it her own business to analyse people as a gambler and a self-declared businesswoman. The only reason she’d caught onto this musician on her screen was due to the anime she’d voice acted for. Her recommendation in one of her videos had increased the view ratings by a significant proportion. Also the music she produced wasn’t half bad… well, the more recent ‘road releases’ were definitely her favourite at that moment, compared to the original album with its electro-synthesised voices and abuse of the sequencer. Maizono’s musical talent really was something else and this certainly wasn’t the first time Taeko had found herself infatuated with someone she’d never met. The girl on screen babbled on, picking up an ukulele for a quick song even, bright, cheerful, all frills. At least this way Taeko was safe from the abuse one could suffer.

 

\--

 

The lights shone bright, pinpointing her face, emphasising her presence to the panel audience sat, applauding, calling her name, cheering. The questions fluttered by with a breeze. Taeko found herself leaning forward on her arms, position completely out of her usually tight control, so deeply engrossed in the atmosphere. She hadn’t felt so relaxed in such a long time. So loved. 

Can we hear your voice, can we hear your voice. 

The crowd crowed for her, taking in the smallest sentence that fell from her lips like a star out of heaven. She saw their eyes alight and could feel her own cheeks tugging upwards as she beamed back at them. These were the people who’d made her happen. They were here, raising up, praising her. They screamed for her, cheered for her, begged for her. She welcomed them, they were hers. Her flock, her people. She saw them smiling and smiled back. Their golden beams were her crown and oh didn’t she just feel so elevated on adrenaline.

Taeko, Taeko!

The after party. A rather subdued event, with a few people still hanging around. Most had hauled their glorious swag homewards, basking in their own expensive glory. Taeko wasn’t really talking to anyone, most of her colleagues having abandoned underage her for the bar. Which, of course, she was totally fine with. It meant she could leave earlier. She couldn’t exactly use her fake ID there anyway; the tenders had her pegged. She strode out onto the street, rushing to avoid any leftover convention goers. She’d answered her share of questions she felt, taking her hair from its plait into a bun, hat and obscuring glasses on her face in a swift movement. The disguise, the change soothed her. The instantaneity of the movement felt good in a way she couldn’t quite explain, but in that moment she wasn’t Taeko. She found a pub, hidden away in the folds of the city, deep past the twists and turns. The people didn’t bat an eyelid at her and for that she was grateful. 

When she stepped into the rather backwater establishment, she hadn’t expected a group of cosplayers to be having a little after party of their own. She cursed through her teeth, residing very quickly at the bar, ordering with as few words as possible. The problem with being known for her voice acting was that people could recognise voices. And recognise her voice they did, few sidling up quickly.

“Say…” one began, “You wouldn’t happen to be Taeko Yasuhiro, would you?” a Stella was placed in front of her and the vice she held it in could be called a death grip.

“No.” she lied, but maybe her lie had been too blunt, too forced. It certainly seemed that way when they reacted.

“It is! Wow, Ms Yasuhiro, you are so talented!” she couldn’t recognise the costume nor the person beneath it. She still managed a smile, despite people at tables craning their necks to see if they might recognise her as well, “Like, not just voice acting! I, uh, I follow your blog, you see. Your seam work is amazing!” That got Taeko to unhinge. She chuckled, blushed a bit.

“Thank you. I do prefer that side of my work to being recognised for having vocal chords, sometimes.” And so the conversation began. It may not have been as intricate as she would’ve liked, unable to trade banter with these people. She watched them, their reactions to certain phrases, sentences, not trying humour until she’d calculated the exact kind which would work. She could manoeuvre herself easily socially, not that she wanted to do so quite as often as one might’ve thought. Taeko did not yet view people as tools, and was genuinely enjoying the company. She posed for a few photos. She knocked drinks with them. Laughter came easily, and she didn’t quite pay attention to how much she’d had until she was offered another by a figure, wrapped up in cosplay, no face visible. His words were warped past his mask, his voice obscured. Normally Taeko would’ve been itchy, disturbed. She couldn’t perceive his movement, his person. The only way she could tell this someone was male was the voice, deep, hidden, muffled. Even in a drunken stupor she fidgeted a little.

“Your voice is quite something.” The voice blurred. A hand was outstretched, “I’m quite a fan.” She shook, grinning a wobbly grin. Damn she should’ve kept a check on what she had drank. Usually her tolerance would’ve been miles better, but having snacked sporadically throughout the day, rushing from stand to stand, food hadn’t really occurred. 

“It’s so nice to meet another fan.” She drawled, her lips working hard around the words. Where were his eyes? Where was his expression? Where was his truth? “Though can’t really meet you when you don’t have a face.”

“Can I buy you a drink?” she didn’t think.

“Yes.” She should’ve ordered herself, asked for it in a bottle. But the muffled voice revealed nothing, said nothing, gave her nothing. He was playing with no cards. The pint arrived, but he’d already kept her busy.

“Can you… say a little something for me, with her voice?” she laughed. The pleading, the crying, the seeking for her, for her, for her. Her voice was wanted. She had the power to make the fiction real, she held it deep in her throat, her vocal chords. Her brain knew the pattern to make it work.

“A little what something?” she blurrily shot back. The others had left some time ago by then. Maybe they assumed she was with a friend. Maybe they were just tired. They’d had their fill. In her pocket, her phone buzzed. She’d promised to text Yamada when she got back to her room.

“Can you tell me…” he moved away. “I’m too shy…” The statement was monotonous. Taeko’s hand patted what could’ve been his cheek.

“Whisper it.” He leaned in. That must’ve been when it happened, not that she’d realise until later.

“Can you… can she tell me she loves me?” So she told him. She told him a lie spun by a fiction, and Taeko did so have a heart for poetry. She drank, she spoke. The other girl spoke. It was easy. Lying, that is. The words flowed and brought her drunken, heavy limbs to life, her eyes sparkling as she veered off into nothingness with naught but her tongue. She couldn’t tell if the figure was entranced or not, could not tell through the cloth. She would be that one day; perfectly unreadable, incalculable in a perfect sort of way. This muffled restriction did not appeal; the lying did. Oh and the lying appealed.

Her head throbbed, her ears drummed. Her words stammered and a hand flew to her head. She held herself, cradled herself. “What’s wrong?” could she hear even a hint of care? Could she hear, could she hear? Was there tone, depth, quality? Was there a human behind that cloth? Her hands flew around her head, imitating the throbbing. Maybe she managed to say something, indicated something, anything. “Maybe some fresh air?” was there sorrow at seeing someone he idolised like this? Was there pain? He led her out into the street. He asked her where she was staying. Like he would take her there.

He said he had his car. Her brain hurt too much for her to disagree, throat dry, eyes hurting, head pounding pounding pounding. He asked her to say it again. I love you, but with her voice. He asked her to lie. She told him no, to fuck off, her head hurt. Her head was splitting, and her limbs wouldn’t move. Maybe it was then that it dawned on her. The car stopped and she didn’t know where she was. She tried lifting herself to look but he’d already blocked out the light. A hand found her throat. “Tell me she loves me.” She told him to suck cock. A hand squeezed her throat. The other girl spoke. 

He scratched away at her, tearing her up, shredding the sinful clothing. His free hand scrabbled, clawing for purchase to scar scar scar her clothing. Frenzied heat flooded from him to her. She tried to scream but the hand was tighter. Her limbs were on fire, her veins beating and throbbing. She felt her blood congealing and wasn’t certain if it was really happening. Her mind was beating, splitting, cracking and shattering, her ever precious globe shuddering with the pressure of his rhythmic grunts. She could not see him; there was no face. The lack of ferociousness visually was replaced with that fire, with that burning, scorching through and up and along, down, around her. The hatred burst inside her, a hotline from him to her, frenzy shaking her, the choke hold corrupting her breath. There was the plunge and she screamed and choked, and he hissed, growled, grunted and snorted in this wolfy, beast like way. He wanted to hear the other girl’s voice. The blood boiled, the bruises began to build scratches, scratches. Scars and scarring tore her up, shrivelled in the seat of a car with no one walking by. Her voice caught and called, to be clamped again, clamped, no freedom. This would happen, this would happen and she sobbed and sobbed in the face, in the knowledge of it all. His corruption flowed up and through her, pounding, pounding, plunging, plunging. The hate shot through her mouth, screaming with vigour, cracking her own head neat in two.

Oblivion and darkness. The other girl muttered her final words of deceitful love. Taeko Yasuhiro was gone.

 

 

She regained focus on the street outside her hotel. She looked down and saw she’d been walking. Her jacket had been thrown over her tattered layers, whether a defence against the cold or against the curious gazes of zero strangers. The bruises probably hadn’t blossomed, the blood had probably been cleaned –the few people around her didn’t move to help. Her makeup was stained, smudged. Maybe her date had gone wrong; yeah, that was probably it. Teens, always exaggerating. Can’t trust them, you just cannot trust them. 

The softened sweeps of an orchestral track flourished, blooming from an open window towers above her. The sound beat hard against her ears, seeping into her cracked skull. The lights were yellow enough for her to wince and blinker her eyes with a shaking, corrupted hand. Somehow she got back to her room without hassle. It seemed the world had been purged of company, no-one at the desk, no-one on the stairs. She was in a ghost town, her ears bending for the sound of humanity, something different from silken instruments and primal howls of hatred. In her room, she collapsed against her sink. That pale face was tinged with that sickly tint, mouth dropped open, stomach curling and ready to throw it all out. The hands burned along her, through her. She could see them passed her ripped clothes. There wasn’t much blood along the scratches; that which was there had dried, the shape of nails, pointed ends of costume. The parading charade she would not be able to name.

A corner of her mouth was bloodied, a split lip. The lies rang again in her head and she was surprised there was not more blood to pour from her treacherous mouth. Splashing water on her face became an uncoordinated drenching of her upper body. Who could she call, where could she go? How could she explain that the girl who left early that day hung tattered, crucified in her own twisted up bones? Laid out on her bed was her costume for tomorrow, set out neatly with the hours, makeup ready on her side table in the exact order of picking. Her wig was set on a little mannequin head on the floor by the window, a moment before the telly. 

The liar sobbed, choked, as she kicked them, pushed them, out of sight, out, out of mind. She was not the same girl she once was and how dare she think to be happy. How could she lie, how could she taint the perfect fictional with bloodied, bloodied hands. The burning despair, that roiling hatred bubbling and brimming through her eyes, her every orifice, would’ve burnt the celebrated decoration from her shoulders with a breath. She saw the little nendoroid, saw the books in her bag, saw her clothes, saw her cosplay, saw it, observed it. She stood amongst it and yet it no longer felt like hers. She saw her old happiness and looked away.  
That girl was gone. Taeko Yasuhiro was no longer a positive experience. How could someone with such burning skin, such a ruined interior, a person whose trust had been stolen and thrown away, how could such a someone dare to pretend to be happy. No. That wasn’t the issue. How dare such a person contemplate being there, standing with the crowd and bringing them all down. She crumpled and screamed, throbbing with pain so raw, the salt water gushing down her, nowhere close to cleansing her. Taeko Yasuhiro was crushed up and gone and that was for the best, after all.

 

She would never dare to sell damaged goods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you hadn't realised, this chapter was set in the past.  
> i feel ill having written this.


	10. Climax

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the layout is meant to confuse. things aren't meant to be totally clear, but you should still be able to tell what's going on. apologies if it's a bit much.
> 
> also huge eumotophobia warning

_I keep falling, I keep falling down_  
 _I keep falling, I keep falling down_  
 _If you could only save me_  
 _I’m drowning in the waters of my soul  
_ **Nothing Left To Say** -Imagine Dragons

Rain hammered against the window, thunder roaming the sky with the sickening crack of its fellow. Warm lights didn’t quite equal warm climates, figures rushing by shuddering under their material skins. A mug skittered against the table, drawn up ever so slowly to waiting lips, parted in a constant haze of memory. The red eyes struggled to blink, grating past the tears. The salmon-blonde sat opposite her watched so closely, catching every tremble in her frame. Either the tears didn’t quite meet Celes’ eyes, or her deadpan was so good she could afford to ignore them betraying her emotion. Junko watched her, a constant nagging at the back of her mind that she could absolutely kill for a cigarette. However, addiction must be ignored for the sake of friendship. Maybe. For now, she busied her hands with rubbing the arm of the scowling girl across from her. It was time she began talking, having dragged her friend to the café in such wonderful weather in the first place. “Celes, out of genuine curiosity, what do you stand to gain from continuing like this?”

They both knew what ‘this’ constituted as. They both knew that the question wasn’t entirely gravitating around Kirigiri, around the Hell Celes was apparently intent on dragging her through. The question covered something a bit bigger. The hands itched and crawled and burned along Taeko’s skin, moving in a familiar pattern she was screaming to forget. “That’s a strange question to ask, Junko.”

“Yeah, well an answer some time soon would be good. We don’t know what you’ll do next to her and, guess what, I don’t think you know either. If someone ends up in hospital, then I’m sorry but I won’t be surprised.” Celes shrugged in response and Taeko knew she was right. “I just want to know why. She’s your opportunity to grow, to get past it. Positive relations might actually be a good thing, god forbid.”

Celes rolled her eyes, leaning forward. Her hand clamped over the one rubbing her forearm, impeding it immediately. “I’m quite certain this here is a positive relationship and I don’t feel any less of a wreck because of it.” Junko leaned forward in turn, that dark gleam in her dangerous eyes.

“I’m not sure how long this will continue to be a positive relationship, Taeko. As long as you pretend to be Celes, it will be hard for us. We are here to help you come to grips, just as much as Kirigiri is. We want to help.” There was a dreadful silence, the thick atmosphere sliced thin with the edge of their eyes.

“As much as Kirigiri?” the only piece of information she could pick apart, “That’s not much; she doesn’t know.” Junko’s eyes widened and she rocked back. The information had been taken in an unanticipated way, one Celes hadn’t quite calculated. Junko wasn’t speechless often.

“Then… Celes…” she cleared her throat, a hand raised, brushing her fringe to the side as her mind darted for some sense, “Taeko… then… why do you think she cares so much, then? She doesn’t know that and yet she is still so persistent?” her hushed words asked herself. How could Kirigiri be putting up with such torture with no other motive but she wanted to? “I thought she knew…” an anger curdled inside of Junko in that instant, roiling and freezing her veins, stopping them up with pure dreadful anger. She shot forward, grabbing Taeko, grabbing her, clawing at her clothes, bringing their faces in close. Junko did so adore her friends. “Why is she still around a little shitbag like you when she doesn’t even know? Can’t you see what you’re doing to her? And yet she’s still around despite having no reason. Taeko, that means something, you little fuck; that means something and you are still here doing whatever the fuck you please. Keep kicking her down, why don’t you; you’re breaking her for no reason!” she hissed, spat, growled her words, forcing their meaning into Celes’ line of emotionless vision. “That loyal little retard is letting you do this to her because she thinks it’s helping? And you can’t even acknowledge that?” she sat back, thrusting Celes away from her, hiding her eyes with a hand, shaking, shaking her head. “I take back what I said earlier. No-one’s going to end up hospitalised because of you, they’re going to end up _dead_.”

The drink was raised to the open lips again. Junko was regarded coolly. “I hope you enjoyed your burst of theatrics. No-one will end up dead, I bet my name on it.” 

The friend scowled.

“You know what I mean, though.”

A cold chuckle, “I do.” She had to admit, Junko almost had her up until that bit; exaggeration defeated the object, the meaning for her. The coffees were finished and Celes released Junko back onto the street, the rain extinguishing her desperate attempts at lighting up a cigarette, bouncingly placed so delightfully between her full lips. Celes took the opportunity to kiss the smooth cheek in ways of saying goodbye, to transfer false feelings of thanks as she left. Junko probably kept an eye closely trained on her butt as she walked away; knowing they both found each other attractive and also that it would forever be platonic between the both of them was releasing in a way. Taeko wished she could enjoy such a freedom with everyone, but alas liberty had not yet been granted to her through the shackles of her own mind. 

The rain fell harder through the cracks in the pavements and the windows running with her steamed up. Celestia Ludenberg headed off home. She could see the shadows forming around her, those movements which weren’t there. The eyes of strangers became hostile rather than indifferent. Celestia needed her pills, her secret, the doctor’s prescriptions she always burned once used. She could feel the panic building up, could feel the burning again. The memory pounded around her, the streets that she walked fill with an open hostility. For the first time in her existence, Celestia Ludenberg understood Taeko Yasuhiro; she felt chased.

 

\--

 

Naegi knocked on the door. It edged open a tad, but no voice answered him. Maybe Maizono was in there, in her room, not paying attention to the world any more, too deep in her own thoughts. Her voice was cracking when she tried to speak, her words not coming immediately. Happy chatter was sordid silence now and it just did not fit. “I’m coming in.” he wished he wasn’t.

Kyouko Kirigiri was lying bruised on her bed. Again he’d found her with a spliff in a crooked hand, sending half-assed circles of smokes into the air above her head. The purple-blue along her jaw line was prominent in the light cast by the spring rain, light sun dancing from the droplets splayed across the window. Glazed eyes were pointed in their direction, but the absence was so obvious Naegi wondered if she’d even heard him knock. “Kirigiri, how long are you going to let this continue for?” he sat, waiting. The material of Sayaka’s bed felt uncomfortable, but only because of his guilt.

“Until I hate her.” Was the whispered reply, let into the air with the smoke from her lips. Hands clasped on his lap, Naegi shook his head. Though she refused to let it on through her clouds of impassive masks, Kirigiri had a large heart and it was a heart filled to over spilling with love. Love for her friends, for her family, for everyone. In her he saw a woman frightened of that love, of the over bearing emotions she contained. With that love came her concern, her care and Taeko just happened to need all of it, didn’t she. 

“When will you hate her?” he didn’t want the answer. Naegi knew he’d never want the answer from the way she tilted her head towards him so slowly, so carefully, when hooded eyes opened enough to take him in. Again the smoke escaped from her lips with her whispers.

“When she wants me to.”

“But is she worth it? Is anyone worth…” a helpless gesture which took in nothing but everything, “Is anyone worth _this_?” Maybe she was broken; she seemed too stunned to reply. His words leaked through her ears and chilled her to the very bone. From the catatonic emptiness she found a flicker of anger, a flame that built. How dare he? How _dare_ he?

“Yes, Naegi!” her words cracked, “Yes and yes, of course she’s worth it!” How could she make the words form? How could the meaning of such deep passion become something as animalistic as earthly communication? Kirigiri found herself grasping for words which simply did not exist, and knew her lack of clear expression was being taken as a lack of actual passion by her stoic, cheerless friend. The thought had her pause; was passion overriding her words? Or maybe she only stuttered because she was trying to build her emotions, forming a love which was not there. Maybe she worked hard exhausting her own heart by shovelling her time, her sanity, her love into an emotionless pit. Was she happy? No. Not like this. Never like this.

Naegi saw the change, the flicker of doubt. “Are you happy?” he asked softly. If needs be, he’d pry his friend from this discomfort. Helping was what he did, but Naegi did not expect the tears to enter his friend’s eyes.

“Am I happy?” the question whispered back joined the smoke above her. “How could I possibly be happy?” Naegi sighed and Kirigiri knew he’d never understand. The hands that covered her burned, the bruises ached. She needed to know now, all of a sudden. The crushing need to know if this was all worth it. Was the pain, the disappointment, the building up to be knocked down: was it worth it? She felt the ache on her jaw, the bruises, the soreness residing inside her. What end could she expect with Celestia Ludenberg holding her chokingly close? “I’m going to talk to her.” A whispered promise. She turned her head towards her friend. “I’m going to-” he’d gone, an absent bed with only the crease in the sheets. The air shuddered from her lungs. “I’m going to do it…”

 

\--

 

It wasn’t quite dark, but it certainly wasn’t light. The blankets on the bed were a mess. The room, the apartment of Celestia Ludenberg, normally so much more royal, regal in appearance had become ruined. Bottles on the floor, as ever, but the hostess’s foul mood towards herself, her life, the world, everything darkened the hallowed halls. Sadistic madness crept in; Taeko could see shadows on the walls, movements out of the corner of her eye. When the lilac girl appeared at the door, the door was slammed against the doorway. Any inquiries about her health were ignored with spite. Kirigiri had seen her, the edginess growing. Celestia took a shaking breath as she made tea for the two. Taeko had run out of pills, but Celestia had convinced herself that she did not need them.

Still the creeping sensation grew, the eyes watching her multiplying. They sat and said little to each other, Kirigiri’s cool glove holding her, chaining her to sensibility. A well trained poker face managed to keep the eyes from darting around, but Celestia Ludenberg’s eternal mask was taking its toll. How long could she keep this up? Deep inside, the lies were unravelling and Taeko’s hurt was coming loose. The power, the security she’d felt for so many years in her casual untruths was evaporating. The panic was returning and Kyouko soothed her. But she only began to truly relax when Kirigiri was topless on her bed. This girl gave her everything, did not ask for anything in return. Celestia felt the power slide back in her favour and an edge of manic sanity returned.

 

\--

 

“Hey, can we talk?” Celes looked up from her work on Kirigiri’s stomach. She glared.

“I’m being gentle for once okay, you useless fuck. This is what you wanted so let me do it, wow.” Kirigiri rolled her eyes and remained still as Celes continued kissing her stomach. She knew Celes would get bored any moment now. She could feel the building tensions, the hands running along her sides getting harder, fiercer. Nails pricked her every now and again. Teeth nipped. Kirigiri felt that sadness again. Celes’ eyes darted up to that unmoved face. She huffed, rested her arms on Kirigiri’s stomach. “What’s wrong?” Taeko dreaded the answer.

“Celes…” Kirigiri felt her get comfortable resting on her stomach. She wondered if the literal weight resting on her was metaphorical in anyway. She braced herself, “Taeko…” a sharp in-take of breath; she did not dare look. “Are…” she swallowed, “Are we happy?” there was silence. The weight shifted from her. Taeko sat up, turned away. She inhaled, exhaled. Kirigiri saw her look at her hands, the shaking limbs. The gambler’s breathing increased and Kirigiri saw the science of it, saw the anxiety rising. Repetitive motions began to form; unscrewing a bottle cap over and over. The trembling hands raised to her ears. Taeko heard the high pitched whine, the fuzziness, a cloud of static around her head. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t happen.

This was it, the beginning of their end. She would lose the only person who cared about her and she didn’t know how she felt about it. The person who stuck around without knowing, who put up with her, who cradled her through her anger, who took her abuse, who took that burning fury which filled her to the brim with drink. Darling Kyouko was leaving her. And Taeko was nothing without her.

The fire flared inside of her, the hands along her crawled and itched deep at her soul. “Taeko?” came the hesitant voice. Asking for her, asking, begging, pleading for her, her name. Calling for her, crying for her. Like only so long ago. “Taeko?” that name, that name, that name. She felt it grow, the anger, the shaking, unmovable anger. She hadn’t had enough to drown it, had remained too sober. Her arm twitched; a phantom movement, reminding her along with those hands of how tainted she was. “Taeko? Say something, please.” That voice whined, but her mind was clouded. Who was speaking? Who could be calling her by that name but the crowds of people? No-one called her Taeko anymore. 

A hand grabbed her shoulder and she struck it away, panic, madness in her eyes. There it was, that mask of emotion, the unclear wall. The eyes, the blank eyes. She couldn’t see anything in that face. She fought against it, the hands seizing to grab her, to still her, to restrain her. She struck them away, fighting that mask, the false. The panic, pure adrenalin raged inside of her, her eyes blinded by tears. Her hands found something, something. She swung it wildly, her panic coming so fast, so fast. Her breathing, her breathing, the oxygen flooded her system. The swing of the bar, it felt like a bar, a solid metal thing. Maybe it was the car axel; the masked figure hadn’t planned on that. He thought he had her, he thought she was restrained. She attacked the hands trying to hold her. “Taeko! Taeko!” a voice screamed but who could trust voices? Who could trust words, lies, from an unknown face, blank blank eyes. She found the figure, swung and struck, her voice raw in her throat and the hands stopped scrabbling at her, scrabbling at her figure. She would end him and end him. He ruined her. She was nothing because of that figure and she would make him nothing in return. She kicked him away, kicked and punched, bruising him, bruising. Too much oxygen; the static grew.

Maybe her eyes registered what she saw but her brain did not. Celestia Ludenberg fell to the floor, sobbing and retching and she knew not what she had done.

In the morning there was blood, there were bruises. There was panic, sobbing; who comprehended what had happened? She was in a waiting room, and a nurse was speaking to her. She couldn’t see the face, the edgy eyes which needed sleep fixed to the clipboard in gloved hands never met hers. ‘Hallucination’ was mentioned. Panic attacks, depression, anxiety. Post-traumatic stress disorder. Maybe even anger problems. Taeko nodded in silence, and her hands till shook. In the hallway, people were reunited, someone whistled a joyful tune which jarred against her ears. Music left sourness in her mouth, reminded her of that open window above her in the street. For a moment, she could see the blood on her lip again, her tattered top, the looming hands but the moment passed as soon as it arrived. 

The lilac girl with the gash on her head where the bulb had broken against her skull. They were having trouble removing all the glass but could not do anything until it was all out. The side of her head was bloodied, the hair shaved away so they could operate, so they could work on her. To dig out the glass Celestia dug in. She had yet to wake up.

“Are you happy now?” her head darted up. She wasn’t at home. She’d never seen Kirigiri’s room but that was where Naegi wanted to talk. “Hey.” He clicked his fingers. “Celes.” She shook her head. She wasn’t the perfect Celestia Ludenberg any longer. There was still a cloud of static around her ears, despite her pills being renewed the moment she stepped into that hospital, despite them being taken then and there with half a bottle of mineral water that had gone warm in her sweating hands. “First of all, congratulations! You’ve hospitalised your pretend girlfriend!” Who was she now? Celestia Ludenberg had never meant to be this kind of person. Distraught, ruined, a wreck inside and out. There was still blood under her nails. “Second of all, I’m not sure how long we can put up with this. ‘We’ being your friends. Yeah you’ve seen some shit, but this is not okay.” He barked out a cracking laugh. “Celes?” the name sounded so wrong now… But so did Taeko. The lilac girl’s battered body, the bruises under her eyes and on her jaw, the blood on her head and along the nail marks in her skin flashed in her mind. How could she have mixed up such beauty for the blank eyed monster? “Oh! Not responding to Celes now? So what should we call you next, hm? Or should we even call you anything, because really, who will want to stick around after this? What will you do next, Taeko? You’ve ruined Sayaka and now Kirigiri’s breathing through a tube!” Someone came in at the shouting.

“Out! I can’t… Naegi, get out now!” Would she need a new name? Moving on was the only thing she could think of. Starting anew.

“She needs to know. I can’t put up with this anymore.” She could go abroad for a few years. She had money to spend and nowhere to go. 

“Oh, well I’m glad everything’s about you! Get out of here. Get out.” Maybe a punishment would work. Forget dabbling in gambling, forget her reliance on drink and pills. Prostitution, control at the hands of the other sounded so appealing. Then she wouldn’t have to deal with her body. No-one would even care for her name. 

“Celes?” a pause, “Taeko?” Sayaka. A hand touched her arm, rubbed her back like those years ago. Taeko crumpled into the girl she’d never really given the time to know, the singer who gave up her career for her sake.

“I’m sorry…”

“So am I.” Sorry that Taeko got so far, so far into Celestia Ludenberg. Deep, deep into her hallucination, the comforting lie which only alcohol could ensure she remembered. “We’re here, Taeko. You know that.” The ruined idol held her close, like she always used to.

“Kirigiri isn’t.” Silence.

“No.” the idol’s throat shifted as she gulped, “No-one knows when she’ll be back.”

“Do you think she’ll come back for me?”

“This time?” inhale through the nose, exhale past the lips, “I honestly couldn’t say. You beat her with a lamp. You thought she was your rapist, Taeko. What does that say about how you think about her?”

“I wasn’t...” did she? This wasn’t reassuring. But maybe she didn’t deserve inner peace at this moment. Maybe some torment would do her good, teach her a few lessons. “I didn’t think she was… I panicked! I didn’t know what…” there was something damp, warm down her cheeks. A hand shuddered to her face and for some reason she expected blood, and only found tears.

“I think… You should get rid of your alcohol, firstly. Ease yourself out of it. Go jogging, eat food. Sleep well. We’ll check up on you. Take some time off, we can collect class notes. Just… rest, Taeko. Sleep.”

“Yeah…” she mumbled, dropping the bag of pills on the floor, kicking off her shoes. Closing the apartment door behind her, Taeko walked immediately to the bathroom, surveying the damage of the day. Lips cracked, skin raw from nervous itching, blood under nails, mascara down her face, hair tufting at the front, one of her contacts had fallen out. For some reason, she found relief; in front of her she could finally see Celestia Ludenberg and Takeo Yasuhiro at the same time.

Bare feet pattered quickly out to change amongst her empty chairs. Her clothes were thrown in the bin, an old band t-shirt and pac-man lady-boxers were found. She felt too nauseous to stay and change in her bedroom. There was still blood on the sheets. The alcohol cabinets were emptied, stood standing along the kitchen counter by her sink. Half empty glasses joined them. With a final downing of a two day old whiskey, the ceremony began, liquor running together down the drain. The colours swirled together and again bile rose in her throat watching. Vomit followed the stench of alcohol and she began to feel a little bit better.

A beer stained blanket was pulled from under a now empty drinks cabinet and flung onto a sofa. Taeko slept truly alone for the first time in years. No drink, no partner and, most noticeably of all, no Celestia Ludenberg. That didn’t mean the dreams left her alone.

-

The light jarred on surreal corners. Taeko was cowering in her hotel room, with her cosplays looming ten times her giant above her head, leering with no eyes. A crowd was cheering but the sound couldn’t be placed. Her phone was in her shaking hands and she was dialling again and again, crying, sobbing for her friends. The torment rose, colours dancing and swimming, the crowd’s booming roar increasing. Eyes darting left and right, there she was on the street, phone in hand. She flicked down a name for them to laugh in her ear at the feeble sound of her voice. Up above her, heavy orchestral noise fell, instruments raining from the sky and slamming into the pavement. Taeko ran but her legs were useless, creeping blank hands holding them, burning along her inside. The static cloud built up and around her brain. She turned down a corner, looking for cover.

Sat calmly in a hospital room, a bed in front of her. Outside the window where there had once been a sick kind of sun she could see the rain of instruments continue. A nurse by the bed finished off their notes and rose, walking past her. “Funny weather we’re having.” They said. Taeko nodded in the affirmative, smiling. “How dare you smile.” She couldn’t speak, merely shook her head frantically. Naegi glared at her from behind his surgical mask, the clipboard in his gloved hand thrown onto the floor. “You think we can stand you after this?” he screamed at her and darted out the door, merging with the other nurses immediately. Taeko smiled in confusion and shrugged to Celestia sat next to her. Celestia shrugged back, her red eyes gleaming, full of dead roses. She scattered on the ground, a collection of petals and thorns.

“She was always going to die.” Kirigiri’s voice echoed through the hallway, though she lay unconscious on the bed. Taeko nodded, shrugged again. That light, chiming laugh belonging only to the lilac girl rang. “I’m glad you’re here now Taeko.” The lilac girl sat up, staring out the window. “Funny weather we’re having.” She said, but it wasn’t her voice. The masked man turned in the bed, tearing the tubes from his body, blood seeping and bursting from the wounds. He loomed over her, shards of glass embedded deep in his skull.

-

Taeko darted awake, but her mind pushed her back down. Her eyes were sore, her throat so dry. Yawning, she stumbled towards her drinks cabinet and then remembered. Oh and did she remember, the full force of it hitting her again. There was blood still on her bed, after all. And there he was, stood with those cold, cold eyes. There with those eyes which weren’t cold, those eyes which weren’t eyes, there he was, stood right in front of her. “Delirium tremens…” her mind said, but she could only crumple to her feet. Footsteps approached her. Vacant eyes gazed up and found an empty drinks cabinet. Taeko looked around at the empty apartment, the silence creeping in under her skin, her clammy, clammy skin, the shaking bones. Her stomach heaved again. Her vision hazed.

Knocking woke Taeko up and there was sunlight. It jarred against her brain, addling her deep in the mind. “Hey, Taeko babe, come on!” Leon. “Open up, got you some help cleaning up and shit!”

The door opened, a trembling hand on the door knob. It had only been twenty four hours. “Sit yourself down, hun, we’ve got it.” Leon grinned, flouncing in followed by Fukawa and Hagakure. They fussed and hurried her, tucking her back up in her blanket, sitting her back on her sofa. Someone put a cup of tea in front of her, someone fixed her some food but the sight of it appalled her. Footsteps faded again within a span of time she couldn’t quite recall.

“You don’t look so good.” It was tomorrow, or maybe yesterday. Junko had a hand resting on her clammy forehead, a half-burnt cigarette behind her ear. “Have you been sleeping in your bed? It looks untouched!” There was a thumping, pounding in her head and that pristine lilac face covered in blood from the veins inside. Taeko could feel her head, the headache, vision swimming.

“Come on, let it all out.” Sayaka was brushing her hair, holding it back from her face. There was blood in her vomit, leaking from her mouth to the toilet. “Sh, sh,” circles rubbed between her shoulder blades, “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

Taeko lay in bed, sweating, drenched, shuddering, trembling. It was dark and what day was it, had time passed? There were voices in her living room but the faceless figure stood over her bed shook their expressionless face slowly, terrifyingly slowly, pinpointing her and holding her. “I’m just worried, that’s all. There’s no alcohol left in the house, I don’t know what she’s done.” Hush, silence. “I think she might be dying, her pulse is crazy.” Memory strained, Taeko recalled the voice. Chihiro, maybe on the phone. “Well I don’t know, what does a withdrawal look like? She looks more like a fire truck hit her than someone with a little paranoia!”

“Give it here.” Ishimaru’s commanding voice was gentle. “Whatever it is, Naegi, we should all be here. I shall text Sayaka, and we shall all be on the highest alert. She needs our care more than ever. Do not walk away on your friend, Makoto Naegi. Where is your hope?” silence, shuffling again. That leering yet empty face still held her in place. Taeko was too exhausted to scream. It held her awake, though she tossed and turned, until the phone was cut off, the two settling down for the night in her living room. Taeko could still see the blood stain on the bed beside her. Where was Kirigiri? An absence was felt around her waist where the woman would usually hold her, clutch her so close. Why did she hold her with such ferocity? Taeko struggled to remember. How long had it been since the girl was beside her?

Fever held her mind, clutched her in darling Kyouko’s place. The lilac girl was sat up in her hospital bed, the tubes still there. For whatever reason, she’d taken longer than normally expected to wake up. Her body and mind had gone into shut down. There was a book in her hands, a page stood upright as it had been for the last few minutes; she hadn’t been reading it really in the first place. Purple eyes stared out the window, though the closed blinds were in the way. When she blinked she saw the fury again, saw the fear. Saw the un-cried tears, the hidden sadness. Kirigiri wondered what it was that held Taeko back with such a terrible wrath.

The bed was cold without the gambler beside her.

Maybe it was better that way.


	11. Summer: Fin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This shouldn't be as late as it is.

“So what exactly did you guys have in common? What started it all?” laughter at the faux seriousness. The curtains rippled with the wind delicately cooling the hospital room.

“Why are you asking?”

An easy shrug, long hair tinged blue pushed from oceanic eyes “Seems like you’ve gone to a lot of trouble for nothing.” The lilac girl laughed, the dark purple around her eyes and yellowing on her cheek stretched with her sad smile. Her blackened fingers tapped gently against her duvet sheets. A bloodshot eye and its milky white twin remained fixed on the ex-idol. A pause. The scarred hands found each other, resting left on top of right.

“Well… It’s hard being with Celes. No-one has anything in common with her but that’s because she likes it like that. It’s how she stays real, otherwise all the flaws in her ‘perfect’ character would unravel.” Sayaka shifted uncomfortably; she hadn’t forgotten that, despite it all, Kirigiri still did not know what had happened to Taeko to make her Celes. She also hadn’t forgotten that it was not her place to say anything. “Taeko’s quite different, though, isn’t she?”

“I wouldn’t know. I guess you could say I never got the chance to meet her.” She could still feel Naegi in her own hands, the warmth and roughness of his skin, the intimacy of their shared words. She couldn’t say she missed it. In much the same way, she didn’t miss Celestia. All she could miss there was the softness of her body… they’d never had a deep connection after all. “Maybe I would’ve gotten along with her.” There was a ring of hope, a burning honesty in her voice. She was probably right, to be honest.

“Taeko is much easier to know, I’ll tell you that. Her reality gives her a kind of simplicity, I suppose.” The two sighed. “Is this conversation going anywhere?” Kirigiri asked softly. Her friend shook her head.

“Not really. I just wanted to know if you still wanted to be a thing. With Taeko, of course.” There was silence again. Not much had changed the room in the time Kirigiri had been there; it stood timelessly, the room always seeming to be white white white from the jarring sun hitting the blisteringly alabaster walls. White light caught in the white curtains, glistening again from the normally sleek hair of Kyouko Kirigiri. The shape of her jaw and the deepness of the bruises and red caught so jarringly when she looked away. “Would you like to see her?”

 

“Would she want to see me?” that seemed to be the only thing Taeko had to say in return.

The group had tried to keep the Lounge as clean as possible, but having regained the most of her balance, it seemed Taeko was intent on knocking over every piece of furniture as she was chased by invisible assailants. Picture frames had been rehung at a skewed angle, the shattered glass cleaned from the floor at an earlier date. Sayaka had cleaned the specks of crusted vomit again from her cheek and, once again, was brushing hair which seemed to have mustered a life of its own in the absence of its previous owner’s strictness. Maybe there were a few elements of Celestia’s control which Taeko missed, but never could she miss her hands doing what she desperately wished she could take back.

Tearing through a brutal knot, Sayaka’s eyes met Taeko’s in the mirror. “She does want to see you, yeah.”

“You already asked?” there were shadows around the room. Celestia Ludenberg was sat in her deteriorated rose-petal state in the mirror. Taeko scowled at the hallucination, but still shuddered at the burnt corpse which, sort of, used to drive her body. “I won’t see her.” Because she didn’t deserve it. Given the lilac woman’s patience, her endurance… how could Taeko dare to step near her. She shuddered, flinched as Sayaka’s calm, equally understanding hands took another length of hair, working softly, gently through it. Celestia had done her best to ruin everyone as much as she could, but somehow these people kept on coming back. Naegi had again picked up his habit of dropping fresh baked goods by the door every so often; Chihiro had moved into the kitchen space, and was hardly offended when Taeko could not bring herself to eat. They all cooed to her, reassuring, trying to help her grow into herself again. But Taeko needed only glance at the wretched girl in the mirror, her ashen twin, and the man ever looming overhead to remember just how much wrong she’d done. “I shouldn’t have ever gone with her… Why did I call out to her in the park?” she hissed through a sudden spur of sobs. 

Sayaka was there immediately, but that didn’t matter. Taeko felt that every second of the gut wrenching heartbreak she sensed was meant to happen, meant to make her writhe and burn and spit. She’d betrayed another’s trust and was burning, burning up. Maybe her mind was so much more gentle to her now -the nightmares less ferocious, the imposing figures less constant- but all she could cling to was the fact that she was damaged and had damaged others.

“Taeko, please…” Sayaka whispered, as though she could maybe understand. Maybe it was true that one must always hurt someone else on the walk through life, that it’s an unavoidable path that must be taken, but that didn’t mean it was right. That should never mean that it was right, and it burned Taeko up, charred her, scratched at her, boiled deep on the inside and spewing the acid leaking black and gunky from her mouth. A bleeding eye sought out the mirror again and she saw it, saw it as Sayaka kept rubbing her shoulders through solid metres of impenetrable glass. Taeko looked at herself and saw the tar leaking from her mouth, roiling from her lungs, the burns, the burn marks, the hands crawling, itching over her exposed skin. The blood fell like tears and tasted more like salt than iron in her mouth and it just _could not be done_.

“How can I ever see her again?” she choked past the pitch black glistening from her lips. “How could I ever have done that?” she gasped, looking up at the ceiling from her bed. The covers were tight around her; she’d almost suffocated in her sleep. Light snoring came from her living room and again she knew where she was.

The question of Kirigiri had tortured Taeko for days. Every night, Sayaka asking reappeared constantly, warped into a new vision in her head. She shuddered, cold despite the warmth around her, shivering through her bones. She stood, stumbled, fighting against her bed sheets. Walking to her kitchen to make tea disturbed whoever was on her sofa. “What time is it?” asked the familiar, quiet but rough tones of Mukuro.

“I don’t know.” Taeko answered, and the mere admission to the fact felt like a relief. “Tea?”

“Always.” There was silence until the kettle shrieked through the unmoving apartment. “So…” Mukuro took her tea, no milk, no sugar, “Nightmares?” her cast down gaze flickered up in a delicate, almost innocent way. Junko as a sister would take the energy out of anyone, but Mukuro’s patience seemed endless… until things jumped to violence.

“Yes.”

“The same one?”

“Of course. What else could it be?” at that Mukuro shrugged.

“Well... I once had the same dream for a good year or so. I was being chased down my high school hallway, these spears hurtling at me every corner I turned.” She laughed softly, “I never made sense of it, but it scared the crap out of me as a kid. Junko just kept punching me until I stopped crying.” With that, she gently bopped Taeko’s shoulder, a light touch of the knuckle, “It was her way of reassuring me.”

“Was it?” Taeko asked, deadpan. Mukuro laughed again.

“Maybe. I just kind of assumed.” Taeko smiled wearily as the drink touched her lips. She really had no clue about what time it was.

“But do you think you’ll talk to her? Go see her?” Mondo muttered over breakfast. He was only really good at fry ups, but for the first time in ages, Taeko seemed to have worked up an appetite for the heaped plate of food. She shrugged in response, neatly slicing an egg with a quick drag of her knife.

“I…” she wanted to, yes. One could only stand so long without pushing the one they’d hurt to find out how the healing was coming along. Taeko owed her that much; a hospital visit. But what would come after was another story entirely. If Kirigiri wanted to never see her again and was seeking her for closure, then so be it. But the thought had Taeko crumpling inside, deteriorating at the very thought of the woman who’d survived Celestia for the hope of seeing Taeko. “I don’t know.” And by that, she meant she didn’t want to know what the answer was. It was too early, too soon.

“I doubt she’ll be in there much longer, Taeko. Though you did go and put her in there good, she’s ahead of schedule. I think her head’s clear now, got all that glass out. The real question is the extent of the trauma or something, holding her back longer than she’d like.” Shrugging his shoulders, he ploughed on through the food until the plates were clear and he’d made sure Taeko was fit enough to walk with him.

 

The air was brisk against Taeko’s face. She didn’t usually walk alone so close to midnight, but there she was, dressed in all black with hood up. For the first time in forever, Taeko had been in charge of her own makeup, rather than following a set guide for gothic perfection. Shaking hands had provided a challenge, so maybe there was more eye shadow than initially hoped for and she knew that the first thing her friends would comment on were her ‘panda eyes’. But in that moment, she didn’t care. The trees around her stood tall. The lampposts created the ebbing, yellow walk she followed. She’d been on the phone that morning to her professor and the student welfare, to all in high-standing. What she requested wasn’t usual, but she’d heard of it before. Due to her condition, she’d missed so much of the spring term that her deadlines were piling up and she couldn’t make excuses for much longer. So, with student welfare on her side, her time at Oxford had been frozen. She wouldn’t be on her course until that time next year, where she’d pick it up and continue. It would cost more, but that wasn’t an issue. She had plenty of money; just because Celestia was out of the picture, her gambling hadn’t suddenly gone out the window. With a winning streak and knowledge on game theory like hers, it was a much safer bet for addiction than casual, constant substance abuse. Taeko needed that flawless win to keep her mind steady; that much she knew. Maybe when Kirigiri was out of hospital there’d be something more positive…

“No.” she growled to herself, shaking her head and turning sharply on her heel. How could she ever be so stupid as to consider that a possibility? After what had happened? So deep in her thoughts was she that she only noticed the figure when she walked into them. “Sorry.” Blurted from her mouth and for a second she was terrified only of her mind dragging up a faceless image from the past, thrusting him into her eyes again. An episode in the park was all she needed. But nothing happened. The figure looked at her, lifted an eyebrow at her.

“There’s plenty of path around if you look.” They muttered, stalking off brusquely, readjusting the large coat. It took Taeko a while to realise what had been said and was too late in coming up with something clever. Extending her middle finger made her feel better, at least. The Lounge door was soon shut against the cold night turning to morning.

 

“So.” Taeko was brushing her hair in the mirror, Sayaka applying mascara beside her, “here we are again, I suppose.” Taeko glanced at Sayaka. She was beginning to hum again, her voice sometimes drifting to Taeko’s ear- a welcome, warm sound as it always had been, back then. “Do you need me to ask you the question again? Just in case you’ve changed your mind.”

“Please, don’t.” Taeko muttered, running her fingers through the now angled sideways fringe. A new her meant a change of parting, apparently, now that her hair was controllable again. “I’m already doubting myself about what I have for dinner. If anything, I’d like the self confidence back.”

“Well, you could put it on like clothes. That’s all you really did, after all.” Sayaka commented through a mouthful of hairpins. A moment of questioning shock stilled the two. Though what she’d said was accurate, Taeko wondered if her friend had been reading too much flowery fiction again.

“Deep. Really deep, Saya.”

“Thank you.”

The car journey was longer than expected. Taeko fidgeted every moment of it, hands clasping and re-clasping as she sought a state of ease. Soon she gave up and let the nerves get to her; the self-torture had developed almost entirely on its own, but worrying more than she had to would end only with an astoundingly high blood pressure. 

There was light rain in the air as they travelled, her and Sayaka, specks dotting suddenly against the windows, drizzling over hesitantly opened umbrellas. Most on the pavements weren’t wearing enough for the sudden cold; it had been sunnier earlier. They parked, twenty minutes late, without many words. They got lost through the meandering halls, asked for directions more than once. Since the last time Sayaka had visited, the ward had been moved due to building renovations which took out the historical building outside for scaffolding flapping in the chilled wind.

It didn’t take much longer to arrive, but an eternity bubbled in Taeko’s blood, filled her mind with static again. She could feel the ends of her fingers going cold, the very extremities of her body lost to the rain outside. Hands hastily flattened her top, trying to iron out the few crinkles there. She exhaled, inhaled. Filling her lungs took concentration enough; how could she step into the room? She still had her past looming over her, still had the inexcusable to excuse. The life story that she'd been given had yet to be shared... But in all honesty, it was still too fresh, too painful to share. Yet Kirigiri still deserved to know. She deserved to know what her pain was for, why she'd had to suffer. Taeko felt that she owed her that much if she was dismissed, felt that it was only fair, only right. Justice needed to be served, but when would she find the right time?

Sayaka stopped outside a door and knocked. There was a stillness. Taeko’s heart stopped in her chest. Celestia stood beside her again, for one last time. A doctor said come in. The door opened and brilliant light flooded the corridor. It breathed against Celestia Ludenberg and again, but this time finally, she crumbled. Her ashes rose up, the petals skittered across the floor, into the room.

Taeko took one step forward, her shoe crunching against the debris. 

Her heart soared and fell. Her breath caught.

 

The door closed behind her. 

A matter of weeks.

It was strange, seeing the Lounge packed up neatly into boxes. Kirigiri stood in the surreal bareness of red and grey and gold, the open windows filling the room with a light she'd never really known. There'd been worrying bloodstains on the corners of cushions, and the occasional dent in the wall and chip in the paint would cause buyers to think twice. The area was still grand enough for them to reconsider, or at least so she hoped. Either way, she was stood there, chin up, hands on hips, exhausted from her work. Taeko was packing mugs into another box in the kitchen. The furniture had already been put away until another place was found. 

Taeko had said she wanted a bonfire with all her old clothes. Clothes with more lace, clothes with more leather, more black, more red. The clothes she'd paid an arm and a leg for, and the clothes which had cost her her sanity to put on. The clothes which weighed so heavily on her skin that she got used to it and lied so well she convinced herself she was walking on air. They'd discussed where they'd wanted to go. There had been too many options available; forward was the only thing that could be decided, wherever that would take them. They needed time together and time alone, time to heal. Healing together seemed like a good plan, in all reality. A reasonable end for something so hurtful. A smile tugged at Kirigiri's lips as she wandered into the kitchen; she didn't really see it as a means to an end. Moving out was proof enough. This was a means to a beginning. "Hey." she said softly, watching Taeko take four mugs on her fingers by each hand, placing them neatly in the box with a focussed concentration. At Kirigiri's voice she turned. She jumped a little, flinched at the bruises still red and yellow and blue, blotching under her eyes. Kirigiri was getting used to it. She'd offered to try hiding them somehow, but Taeko had insisted. The small habit of self torture still pervaded. "Almost done for today?"

"I'm not sure I can take this for much longer." Taeko said, a wry smile pulling her quivering lips across her face, honest but shaken. "If I see another damn piece of crockery I don't know what I'll do."

"If you break it, you're paying." A laugh at that. "Ready to go?"

"Let me just finish with this then yeah." Ready to go home. The tension from the work released at the thought. It wasn't much of a room at that point; Taeko squashed in with Kirigiri and Sayaka in their room. It wasn't designed for more than two people at a time, and even that was pushing it. But the cramped quarters felt more secure than the beautiful bedroom of the Lounge, with its recent, raw history of a passion that burned everything in its path, unheeded gasps embedded deep in the walls and floorboards. Neither of them would forget this place; how could they? All they could do was decide to move forward. Kirigiri wandered back into the main room, turning to the balcony which held her Christmas. The curtains billowed outwards as it had done then, blocking her view of the basket plants, the flowers she'd never seen Taeko, much less Celes, care for. She'd never really noticed them, compared to the girl who'd occupied her mind floating ever so close, over her skin constantly. She could feel her even then, in a strange way. The close of her eyes brought memories and recollections, some of them she wished she could forget.

A voice spoke after a few moments, announcing that she was done. Kirigiri closed the balcony door, Taeko closed the windows. They slipped on their shoes, found their stuff; Taeko's phone charging in a socket, Kirigiri's house keys left beside them. They would finish the job later, find closure when it happened. For that moment, they were happy continuing.

"Oh shit, wait." Kirigiri stopped Taeko from locking the door, running back in. She ran to the kitchen sink, cupped her hands until they were overfilling with water, the glistening liquid throwing the light around the room in catches of brightness. She turned to the kitchen counter, near the large window taking up almost the entire kitchen wall. There was a small bunch of forget-me-nots, overspilling blues, in a pint glass, soil packed tight at the bottom. She trickled the water over the flowers, catching herself, drops splashing on the surface around the glass. Wiping her hands on her shorts, she ran back out the house.

The flowers bent, bounced at the weight of droplets rolling down their petals and stalks. The bunch of flowers sat placidly, neatly in their pint glass, sunlight enhancing their vibrance. Taeko Yasuhiro went home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled writing the end. I had too many scenarios going on in my head, and with exams coming up soon I just sort of postponed this mentally. Turns out it needed things happening in my life for me to produce this final chapter.
> 
> I left the ending open for you to decide for yourself what happens. I wanted this chapter to be longer, but there is only so much one can add to this without becoming boring. Also it doesn't help that Chapter 10 was a tough act to follow without being repetitive. But yes, thank you for sticking with me. And now thank you for ending this with me.
> 
> I just wish something better could've happened.


End file.
